


The Master's Apprentice

by Kouji757



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: College of Winterhold - Freeform, Sacrifice, Spiders, Vampires, molag bal - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2019-11-07 07:44:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 56,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17956451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kouji757/pseuds/Kouji757
Summary: Saarthal had once held the Eye of Magnus and after the tragedy it had caused at the College Tolfdir had suggested a return to routine to help recover -- Onmund found himself missing his room, the library, and the comforts of the College as he mucked around in the ancient tomb once again but soon learned there wasn't just the Eye down there to worry about and, should he survive, he has a lot more to gain than the College could ever hope to offer him.((AU, also doesn't follow any Skyrim storyline))





	1. Chapter 1

After everything that had happened with the Eye of Magnus, with Ancano, with the deaths of the Arch-Mage and Mirabelle, it seemed so strange to be back in Saarthal.

In a way Onmund couldn't fault Tolfdir for wanting to return to some semblance of routine; the elder mage was now the most senior member of the College and didn't seem too eager to take on the mantle of Arch-Mage, nor did anyone else really...but as he WAS most senior everyone was looking to him anyway, and his first decision had been to try and strive for normal while things calmed down. "Normal" had included leaving some assigned to try and smooth things over with Winterhold (Onmund did not envy anyone for THAT job) with the rest of them returning to how things had (relatively) been before the incident.

And because of that Onmund and his fellow apprentices were here in Saarthal once again, picking out those ancient relics for cataloging and study, studying the ancient carvings, and recording the names of those buried here in their quest to learn as much as they could about the people that had once called this place home so long ago.

Their days were fairly simple: wake early, do whatever Arniel badgered them into doing all day, then fall into their (rock hard, incredibly uncomfortable) "beds" to repeat the process again; the same thing, day after day, for...three months? Four? It was hard to keep track of time when you couldn't see the sun.

This morning seemed no different from the others, aside from waking with a mild headache and colder than usual -- at some point during the night he had pushed the top of his bedroll down his body (or, he supposed, he'd pushed his body out the top of the bedroll) and he was uncovered down to the waist. He still had his robes on but the uppermost level of Saarthal was...chilly, to say the least; with a groan Onmund sat up and fumbled to pull his hood up - the fire had gone out overnight which partly explained why it was so cold. Which of them was supposed to keep an eye on it again? It was also difficult to remember who did what each night when "night" didn't really hold any meaning.

'Oh well.' Ugh. Even the tone of his thoughts was resigned to it all. He missed his room in the College, and the library, and the more conventional means of learning instead of poking about in these old ruins; the novelty of it had worn off awhile ago and he was raring to get back to his studies (or the very least stop wallowing around in the dust, dirt, and cobwebs).

Moving slowly, head throbbing, Onmund grabbed a few logs from the pile of spare firewood stacked around the base of a pillar that had wooden steps pounded into carved slots in the stone; he stacked and lit the logs with a quick word and sat there as they steadily burned, thankful for the warmth. Arranged around him in a loose semi circle Brelyna, J'zargo, and Tolfdir were still asleep -- he had no idea where Arniel was but if the man was already awake he would no doubt be coming for the rest of them soon.

Once he'd warmed up a bit his headache eased; he'd never really given much thought to the cold until he'd come this far north to Winterhold and the College -- it got chilly and snowed sometimes when he'd lived at home but Winterhold seemed to be more snow by volume than anything else.

'Maybe I've grown too soft...too used to always having a fire to read beside,' he thought as he stood and sleepily wandered over to the crate of foodstuffs they'd brought in with them; there were ingredients enough to cook a proper breakfast but Onmund knew if he cooked for himself he'd be pestered to share or to cook enough for everyone, and as he still had a bit of a throbbing pain directly behind his eyes he really didn't want to bother. Retrieving a pair of apples he tiptoed back to his bedroll and chewed on them quietly, waiting for someone to wake up and prod him to work.

\-----------------------------

Bit by bit they were moving further into Saarthal -- some days they were sifting for relics, others studying carvings and coffins and making sketches and wax rubbings of each; he preferred the rubbing days personally...there was something awe inspiring about touching something so skillfully made that was so old and yet still (mostly) well preserved in those rooms that hadn't had a ceiling or wall collapse.

Right as Tolfdir awakened Arniel had come - there were burial urns and coffins in one of the furthest chambers from here (and three...four? Four levels down) that Arniel was focusing on today; as the older man led Onmund and the others onward he realized, with some trepidation, that the chamber Arniel wanted to examine and document today was actually the large room that had once held the Eye of Magnus -- in fact, the closer they got the more they could hear (and in a small way, feel) the hum of the pedestal that the Eye had once floated on.

"Should we..." he started, pausing when Arniel turned to give him one of his patented looks of annoyance. "Should we be this far in? Next to this thing? I don't really feel properly prepared, considering what happened with the Eye - this might be just what it sat on for ages but I can still feel it from here."

"We will, of course, be careful," Tolfdir broke in before Arniel could reply. "With something like this there are certain precautions one should always take. In fact, approach and I will review them with you."

Tolfdir's 'precautions' involved a few warding spells on themselves and considerably stronger ones placed on the floor in a circle around the empty Eye pedestal; they didn't really ease the feeling that disaster was around the corner however, and even as Onmund set about carefully cleaning away years of dust and dirt to reveal the intricate designs and names carved into the coffins in this chamber he found himself constantly looking over his shoulder to the green glowing circle of inscribed...stone? Metal? He wasn't even sure what the Eye and its base had been constructed of, but he didn't trust it at his back.

It was a long, filthy afternoon...or evening, or -- well, it was a very long day of cleaning and scribing, and rubbing wax and paper over the carvings to create a copy for the library. Arniel usually set them to their tasks and then more or less ignored them unless he needed something - it meant their days were usually ones of silent focus, with little chatter (and lots of boredom).

And it was because they worked in silence that Onmund wasn't certain when, exactly, everyone had left the chamber; he'd straightened up and stretched, arms and shoulders cramping and throbbing, and when he'd turned around he found himself alone -- his attention had been shifting between his work and the pedestal and he'd given no thought to the others there with him, and now...

A small chill went up his spine - alone in the Eye's chamber with that unending sense of dread he couldn't shake and that vibration and humming that gently shook him clear to his bones.

It wasn't ideal, and he tried to tamp down on the sudden spike of fear that hit him when it sunk in that he'd been left behind.

'Don't be foolish. You know the way back. There is nothing dangerous between here and our camp,' he found himself thinking. With a heavy sigh - tinged with annoyance - he gathered up his scattered parchments and bound them up in one large roll then carefully skirted the Eye's glowing pedestal and began to climb up the dry-rotted steps to the higher tier of the room; halfway up his foot broke through one of the steps and he instinctively dropped the parchment roll and caught himself with both hands, feeling the wood splinters bite deeply into his knees and shins as he partly hung there. He gave himself a moment to recover from the sudden shock of breaking through and his near fall and then, with a grunt, hauled himself onto the steps above the broken one and peered over their edge to where his parchment roll had hit the floor below and rolled almost to the Eye's pedestal.

...he'd have to go near it to pick those up. Damn it.

Not wanting to risk another broken step (or a worse injury other than skinned and splinter-filled knees and torn pantslegs) Onmund climbed the rest of the way up then walked around to the other sets of stairs that led down to the floor; the closer he moved to the pedestal the smaller, more cautious his steps became -- it seemed both wise and foolish to fear something happening (after all, he'd been feeling that way all day) even though the pedestal only radiated residual power from the Eye, NOT power of its own. Tolfdir had seemed convinced that the power would eventually fade, and wasn't especially useful in the state it was in anyway...absolutely nothing should happen if he just walked up to it, but that feeling of dread...

Onmund ducked to snatch up the parchment roll but only manged to get a few fingers on it -- it slipped from his hand and rolled further along the right side of the pedestal. With a growl of frustration he scurried over and grabbed the parchment, standing and quickly backing up from the pedestal and watching it warily.

Nothing happened, or was happening...and nothing WOULD happen. He was just being overly cautious, and shamefully fearful.

He blew out a sigh of relief and then, oddly, felt a draft across his cheek -- he'd been all around this room all day, steadily moving from one side to the other, and hadn't felt a thing, yet now he felt what was undeniably a soft draft blowing against him. Licking a finger and holding it up, testing for which direction the draft was blowing from, he found that it was coming from his...right. But there was nothing to his right-

No. No, he was wrong, and he stared over at the door that had, up until this moment (or at least until he'd noticed it) been firmly shut.

This room had a higher tier that was roughly like a squared, sideways "C" with the inner bit of the C facing where the Eye had rested; the doorway he'd come through was up those stairs on that higher level, and there had been a second door at the very back of the room that, to his knowledge, none of them had ever tried. In fact, he'd just assumed it was locked since no one had mentioned trying to get through it.

But now it stood wide open. Had the others just gone ahead of him through it, rather than back to their camp? Onmund wasn't actually certain which answer would annoy him the most; he tucked the parchment roll under his arm and made his way to the door and stuck his head through it.

It opened into a hallway with root and vine-choked walls and strangely there was a scent of moist soil carried on the draft that blew against his face. Did this lead outside? Or maybe there was an underground spring here...he found himself debating whether it was wise to blindly head down the hallway or not -- he couldn't hear any footsteps or voices ahead of him so it wasn't likely the others had come this way.

If that was true then... Then, whatever was at the end of this hallway would be an area none of the others had seen before. The thought was an exciting one - that he would discover something before anyone else - and yet there was the nagging question of why this door had suddenly opened. Maybe they'd accidentally triggered it? There were levers and switches elsewhere here that had unlocked ancient mechanisms...but he couldn't recall doing that himself, and he really doubted Brelyna or J'zargo could've kept their mouths shut if they'd done so.

If he was careful, and took all precautions he could, there just might be something spectacular at the end of this hallway that he could discover on his own...something he could rub the others' faces in. He bent down to lean the parchment roll against the door frame and began to carefully inch down the hallway; there didn't seem to be anything here aside from crumbling stonework and dead plant matter: nothing jumped out or collapsed down on top of him and in fact the hallway didn't go very far before it took a sharp right turn. At the corner the draft was more like a gentle breeze and was actually strong enough to ruffle the edges of his hood against his face, and it was also rather frigid. There HAD to be some connection to the surface in this direction, or maybe somewhere ahead a glacier had broke through the wall, or...or something, to explain the chill.

And there was still the smell of moist soil, but not the distinctive smell or sound of running water.

The lighting was rather poor here; there was the light coming in from the chamber behind him, and a very faint, sort of silvery light coming from the end of the hallway to his right, but the combination of both still wasn't enough to really see where he was going. With a quiet word and a practiced gesture he conjured a little ball of magelight and threw it to the ceiling above him -- its golden glow lit the hallway considerably but now the far end to his right was lost in a haze of dust floating in the air that was now lit by the light and was about as clear as morning fog to peer through.

Onmund moved slowly and methodically, checking everywhere around him for any nasty surprises as he moved through the fog-dust and finally his boots sank into the damp soil of a seemingly natural ramp made of dirt and rock and as his brain registered what he was looking at he found himself going a little slack jawed.

The room was roughly circular and for the most part left as a natural cave. Mostly. There was a hole in the ceiling through which fading sunlight filtered and it was absolutely freezing in here; at the base of the ramp was a round area full of ferns growing in the tiny circle that received light from above.

But at the rear of the room...in the very back...

A massive wall, shaped like a cylinder sliced in half, was cut from the stone walls of the cavern. There was an enormous stone dragon's head at its center, surrounded with intricate carvings that curled and swirled around the head, and below it was a rectangular part that had been left smooth save for writing chiseled into the rock -- it was angular, blocky writing that he vaguely recognized but not from where, and in general he wasn't even sure what he was looking at...he'd never seen anything like this before. What was it? Why was it here, buried at the back of an ancient, forgotten tomb?

He called the magelight orb to himself and sent it into the ceiling of this room, casting the strange carvings of the wall into sharp contrast with the rest of the shadows around; there didn't seem to be any magical energies here - no dangers that he could sense. Very carefully he slid down the muddy ramp and stepped to the edge of the circle of ferns, admiring the wall... Now he wished he'd brought his parchment and wax after all - to take a rubbing of this would be challenging, but imagine the looks on everyone's faces!

With a grin he moved through the ferns, having to pick his feet up higher than his normal stride to keep from getting snarled in their roots. The soil beneath them shifted and his steps sunk in deeply -- 

He heard a sudden loud crack and froze, and an instant later there were dozens more snapping noises...and then the ceiling was rapidly disappearing above his head.

\-- no, the ceiling wasn't moving, HE was. He was falling - the ferns had been growing in soil trapped atop a crisscrossing network of roots that he could just see above him as he plummeted, and his weight had been enough to cause the dead roots to break away and let him drop.

The magelight above him faded to a dim point of light as he plunged into a dark free fall - it seemed odd to him that he wasn't even screaming, but then he did as he slammed into something and his knees were rammed up into his chest and chin and he bit a chunk out of his lower lip as his teeth were forced together.

Whatever he'd landed on was sharply angled and icy and even as he scrabbled for a handhold he was sliding deeper into the darkness; the magelight wasn't even visible anymore but it hardly mattered as again the ground disappeared out from under him and he fell back into open air. Then he hit, and fell, and hit and bounced off something and was sent into a tumble that slammed the back of his head into the next thing he collided with.

With it so dark he wasn't certain at what point he'd blacked out (did it even matter? Was there a difference?) so there was no telling how long and how far he'd fallen when he swam back to consciousness. 

His limbs felt...heavy. He couldn't lift them and his mouth was full of blood, his head felt like he'd split it with an axe, and all over his body he hurt; if it weren't for the pain Onmund would have wondered if he'd died, but no...he was in agony, so clearly he was awake and alive.

'Alive...alive is good. Now...where am I?'

He was flat on his back and spread-eagle, and laying on something vaguely...fabric-like, he thought. It wasn't stone, and it certainly wasn't dirt or mud; he wiggled a few fingers -- or, he tried to...nothing was really moving or working, and even thinking hurt. With a whisper he conjured another magelight orb and felt his heart stop as it illuminated his surroundings.

Above him was a jagged hole in a massive expanse of webbing - he'd fallen through several layers of it, and when he went to raise his head he found he could move his head but not his hood: it was firmly stuck to the web below him, as was the rest of him. It wasn't that he couldn't move because of injury, it was because he was trapped in a massive spider web.

'No no no. No, no no...' It was a mantra in his head as he struggled to think on how to free himself. Webs could be cut, but he couldn't move and had no blade...they could be burned, but he was stuck IN it and could incinerate himself before he managed to free himself if he wasn't careful. Could webs be frozen? ...no, no, that was dumb, frostbite spiders spun webs in lots of cold places - if cold could make webs fall apart that would be totally useless for the spiders.

Maybe he could...maybe he could carefully burn away enough to free an arm, and then be a bit more liberal with the flames once he had full control over where he could aim it. It was really the only thing he could think of.

Very carefully, starting with his left hand, he conjured a tiny flame; with the webbing so close to him as it burned it began to sear and blister his own hand but after a few short bursts and the stench of his burning sleeve he had his hand free almost up to the elbow and with how loose his sleeve was now he had a little bit of extra room to work with.

Onmund breathed a sigh of relief - it would hurt but it just might work - then paused as a shudder ran through the webbing; he couldn't see much no matter how much he craned his neck to look up and around the edges of his hood, nor did the magelight reach too far in any direction -- he couldn't see any walls or actual ceiling...just the dark hole he'd punched into the web above when he'd fallen through and an indistinct darkness on all side.

The web dipped again, and then there were regular little...taps, or vibrations.

Something... Oh no. Something was coming.

'No, no...Divines, not like this, please...'

He flattened his palm and pointed it down at the web, letting loose with a rather reckless blast of flames aimed at his own hip; the webbing caught fire and he felt himself tipping in that direction, and could feel the web's hold on his shoulder and armpit loosening as the flames weakened it.

Then, there -- glistening in the darkness was a set of multiple eyes, bobbing up and down as the creature moved steadily toward him.

"Get away!" he snapped. He slung his arm that way and sent a half-formed fireball roaring for the eyes - he couldn't see the spider's body but he didn't need to see more than the eyes to know where it was. He saw a flare of flames and heard an angry chittering, then the spider's retreat set the entire web wobbling as it rapidly backed away and back into the cover of darkness.

"Come on...come on..." he hissed, spraying himself with fire to try and free his legs. The more he burned the more he was tilting downward feet first and saw with some dismay that below him was just more webbing. Where was he? How far above the ground was this web?

The web dipped again, deeply, and there was a sudden shadow blotting out the magelight -- the spider had jumped and landed nearly on top of him.

The spider was _massive..._ larger than any he'd ever seen and now it loomed over him so closely he could count the bristly hairs on its front legs.

"BACK!" he shouted, sending a gout of flame over the spider's underbelly.

It made angry noises and jabbed at him with one of its front legs; there was a tearing noise and Onmund tilted even further downward with a very clear view of the thick webbing that awaited him ten feet below.

The spider made a grab for him and the web tore beneath them both; with a cry Onmund found himself falling again. The remnants of the webbing that clung to his legs flipped him upside down and in a surge of terror he hit the webbing face first and stuck there with one arm trapped uselessly beneath him.

Once again the web sank as the spider hopped down after him; before he could conjure his flames again he was suddenly spinning as the spider seized the webbing around him and began to cocoon him in place.

"Stop! No!" He had one arm bent awkwardly and trapped against his chest and the other, thanks to how the webbing had wrapped as he'd spun, was pinned against his back.

Thrashing to try and rid himself of the leggy grip the spider had him in he also desperately conjured flames with the hand behind his back, feeling their heat and sting as they began to burn, but he was abruptly interrupted with a terrible pain - a pain with impact behind it, like he'd been hit by an entire quiver of arrows all at one time - in his hip just above his backside.

It burned terribly but soon numbed, and the numbness began to spread; his thrashing slowed and then stopped as he lost all feeling and control over first his legs, and then his arms. The flames stopped, his heart was slowing, he was feeling sleepy...the spider's venom slowly removed his ability and will to fight and quietly he slipped into sleep within the web cocoon.


	2. Chapter 2

Death seemed to be a void, and the void didn't seem to obey any given set of rules.  
  
Sometimes he felt as though he floated through the darkness, weightless...feeling and seeing nothing; other times the floating was akin to being on his back in a river - he couldn't see but could "feel" (or thought he could feel) something flowing over him.  Sometimes up seemed down and vice versa, and then sometimes - like right now - he could feel something cold, hard, and smooth pressed in against his back and legs.  
  
Onmund had always thought that Sovngarde would be waiting when he finally passed -- granted, he'd not expected to die so young, so maybe he simply hadn't had the time to prove himself a good Nord...which seemed unfair to be barred from the afterlife due to his age and being robbed of a long life, but what else could really explain where he found himself now?  What even happened to those who weren't worthy of Sovngarde?  Was he not alone here, if this is where unworthy souls went?  
  
He certainly seemed alone...and yet, because this place - the sensations it imparted - kept changing at random, maybe he WASN'T alone but instead lacked a way to detect and communicate with anything around him.  
  
Nothing he tried seemed to change his surroundings, IF he was even doing anything at all -- he had an idea, a feeling - a memory? - of what he _was_ in a fundamental sense, but he couldn't actually feel or sense his own body...he couldn't see himself, he _felt_ that he was moving his hands but he couldn't actually physically feel his own movement.  
  
It was just...so strange, and empty, and lonely.  
  
And then, no sooner than he'd thought of that (or maybe it was a millennia after - time had no meaning here) then he felt...something.  A tickle.  A...a dragging sensation across his skin.  He HAD skin - he could feel it!  But what was it?  What was he feeling?  
  
Bit by bit he focused in on individual sensations of contact: his ankles, a positioning of his legs.  By the time he felt something slipping across his hips he realized he had eyes again and could see a faint, blurry light in a thin strip across the nothingness of the void -- it was above him, directly within his line of sight but too far away to touch.  
  
The tickling sensation crawled up his chest and to his surprise he realized he could see himself -- or, he could see an incredibly blurry, blobby outline in the shape of a man that he perceived as being physically a part of himself.  Oddly it seemed he was bare-chested...or so he assumed, as the coloration he could see on his blurry lower half didn't match the colors on his top half; as he squinted down at himself (trying to will his vision to focus) he noticed a thin, dark line crawling up his chest that moved slowly and steadily up from his waist.  When it reached what he felt was the bottom of his ribcage it diverted to the left and began to coil around him like a snake a few times before snugging itself in tight and tying off.  
  
'What...what IS that?'  
  
He flinched as he felt the same sensation on his wrists - something had him by the hands and was pulling them away from his body, slithering slowly down his arms; finally discovering his ability to focus his eyes again he sucked in a breath as he realized they were ropes crawling over him.    
  
With a quiet, panicked little noise he tried to pull his hands free; the ropes gave way for an inch or two before they went taut again and stopped moving, but they held firmly as he tugged and struggled against them.  The cold, smooth feeling had returned as well and he banged his elbow against a hard surface that he couldn't see; his skin began to itch and burn where the ropes held him - even those around his legs and ankles where he still perceived himself as still having his pants and boots on - and he watched with some horror as runes began to etch their way across his chest and down his arms.  
  
'What is this? What's happening?'  
  
Again he fought to pull his hands free but the ropes held without budging; quite suddenly a new one appeared around his neck and began to coil, sliding up his face as he struggled until it slipped between his lips and gagged him, pulling so tightly it bit into his skin and held him completely immobile.  
  
Over the pounding of his heart in his ears came a voice then - it was soft and feminine, and sympathetic in tone.  
  
"Oh, hmm.  Seems you're not as sensitive to the toxin as others.  Off you go back to sleep."  
  
The strip of light above him disappeared, snuffed as suddenly as a candle and plunging him into total darkness; slowly the feeling of the ropes on him, the burning of the runes, and his fear began to bleed out into the void wrapped around him.  
  
And all at once he was back in the moment of his fall, tumbling through the cold dark until he landed-  
  
-in a bed.  Not his bed, but it was undeniably a bed.  
  
His head was on a plump pillow, his body laying on a mattress that was soft and spongy; a wool blanket was tucked in around his shoulders and it crumpled down into his lap as he shot upright in bed, chest heaving as the panic returned.  
  
The bed he lay in was in a room three times the size of his room at the College; there was a fire burning down in a fireplace across the room from the bed and the bed itself was large enough for two, with a curtain hanging from the ceiling that could be pulled from the head of the bed to the foot to shield anyone in the bed from view from the door off to his left.  Along the walls were tables with measuring instruments and...other things - things he thought looked scholarly but ultimately he had no name for nor could he fathom what they would be used for.  There was a single wide wardrobe in a corner and bookshelves stuffed with writing materials, alchemy ingredients, and books, all crowded in around a writing desk just inside the doorway against the wall.    
  
The walls looked like brown brick and he assumed the floor was as well but he couldn't actually see it beneath an overlapping series of rugs in forest green trimmed with black threads; Onmund forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly, to calm himself -- where was he?  He didn't seem to be in any immediate danger...in fact the room was warm and comfortable - inviting, in a way.  
  
He carefully swung his legs from the bed and stood; his robes were gone, replaced instead with an off-white thin cloth shirt that buttoned up the front and was loose and baggy on him.  His pants were his own but his boots were missing, as was his hood; recalling the ropes and runes suddenly with some panic he ripped the shirt off and ran his hands over his bare chest - there were no rope marks, no runes or burns...nothing on his skin.  He wasn't even bruised...but how?  
  
While his memory wasn't entirely clear he still remembered his fall through the vine floor in the room with the strange dragon wall and bouncing off ice and rock and who knew what else as he'd plummeted and then woke up in the spider's web...and he certainly remembered that spider's bite when it had him trapped in its cocoon.  At bare minimum he should be covered head to toe with bruising and scrapes and have the puncture from the bite (and at worst _a lot_ of shattered bones and...various means of bleeding both inside as well as outside), and there was still the fragmented nightmare of the snakelike ropes and the runes and burns he'd watched crawl over his skin...but there wasn't any hint of that -- no scar tissue, no aches, no pains...nothing.  He didn't even feel tired or have a headache.  
  
'What happened?'  
  
Onmund slowly pulled the shirt back on and let his gaze roam around the room, taking it all in; it sort of reminded him of the Arch-Mage's quarters at the College with all this...all this stuff around but the brown brick walls just looked like decorative, packed soil and it made him suspect he was still underground...just, where was he?  How was he alive?  
  
The rugs beneath his bare feet were padded and soft and muffled his steps as he moved from the bed over to the door; the door was made of highly polished wood with a bronze and iron latch that lifted easily at his touch, allowing the door to swing open silently.  Beyond the door was a darkened hallway - there were lanterns hanging at irregular intervals that, instead of flames, were lit with tiny balls of magelight.  He quietly stepped out into the hall and could see a series of doors down either side and the hallway itself was...long, very long; all of the doors were closed and looked identical to his, and the hallway's floor was definitely plain packed dirt with a single line of rugs running down its center.  
  
He took a few cautious steps further into the hallway, straining his ears for any signs of...anything.  All he could really hear was the soft popping of the fire in the fireplace of his room; sucking in a breath he went a few steps more across the hall to pause outside of the door there -- it really did look just like his and there was no hint as to what was behind it either, but when he timidly tried the latch he found it was locked.  
  
"Awake at last I see."  
  
At the voice Onmund jumped and spun around, slamming his back into the door behind him; a woman had walked up behind him - he hadn't heard or even suspected she'd been there - and was standing about six feet away.  She was an Altmer: tall and slender, her skin golden, her eyes a bright amber color; her hair was pure white and pulled into a tight bun with a few stray strands hanging at her temples that had escaped and now hung loosely, and she had the high cheekbones and pointed chin typical of most Altmer.  The silken robes she wore were a light blue with ivy vines embroidered in silver thread around the sleeves and neckline, with a matching silver cord that cinched the robes closed at her waist; the robes hung off a thin frame that bordered on the unhealthy side, even for a mer, and she gave off an air of being...older - mature, though her age didn't show in her face.  
  
Onmund stared at her dumbly; he didn't like being startled in general and considering his current situation he'd jumped a bit more than he would have normally, and the irritation and shame at having been so easily spooked was currently warring with a fear for himself and a very overwhelming confusion and shock.    
  
She looked him up and down, eyebrow raising.  "You seem no worse for wear.  How do you feel, young one?"  
  
"I- you- who are you?  Where am I?" he blurted out.  
  
She nodded, smiling slightly.  "Fine questions, but first: how are you feeling?  Are you in pain?  Tired?  Hungry?"  
  
"I..." he started, pausing to try and get his scattered thoughts in order.  How did he feel?  He felt...much better than he'd expected to, truth be told.  He'd thought he was dead and left to hang in a spider's web yet he'd awakened here, wherever HERE was.  "I- I think I feel all right.  I don't...hurt, and I thought I should be hurting.  I don't understand why.  Did you save me from the spider?"  
  
"I did.  Among other things," she answered with a curt nod.  "Follow me.  I would rather talk somewhere more comfortable."  
  
She swept by him and walked silently down the hallway to one of the doors at the very end, on the left side of the hall; without waiting for him she opened the door and disappeared through it -- after a pause to consider (really, what choice did he have?) Onmund followed after her and found a well appointed, comfortable sitting room on the other side of the door.  There were a ton of bookshelves here too, along with chairs arranged around a fireplace and a literal pile of plush pillows in a heap off to the side of the hearth.  The Altmer woman had settled into one of the chairs and was watching him expectantly; feeling awkward Onmund finally crossed the room to perch on the edge of a chair, placing three empty chairs between himself and the woman.  
  
"You've no reason to fear me, young one.  Not yet anyway," she said into the silence then, pointedly looking at the empty chairs.  
  
"I - what?" he sputtered.  Abruptly he felt himself lift from the chair and, against his will, floated over to the chair directly beside her; he dug his fingers into the leather wrapped around the armrest, both curious how she'd done that (he hadn't seen her hands OR her lips move) and terrified that she could do a lot worse than move him into a different chair.  
  
"Now.  I understand you have questions.  Go ahead."  
  
"Where am I?  Who are you?  How did I get...here?"  
  
She nodded.  "You are in my home.  You may call me Kestrel.  And you are here because my pet fetched you from where you fell."  
  
His eyes widened.  "P-pet?  That - that giant spider...is a pet?  Is YOUR pet?"  
  
Again she nodded, smiling slyly.  "He is indeed -- oh, don't worry, he's completely harmless.  No amount of his venom can kill you but it will certainly knock you out for quite some time... Actually, I take that back, I suppose it COULD kill you indirectly, if you were to starve or something or someone took advantage of your helplessness... Point being, a single bite from him isn't deadly, usually."  She waved a hand dismissively but he couldn't so easily let it drop.  
  
"But he's - he's huge!  How could you tame something like that?"  
  
With a soft laugh she rested her hands on the armrests and leaned toward him, voice lowering.  "He's not real, my dearest.  He is a construct - not a living creature, but an imitation of one.  You'll learn all about it sooner or later."  
  
A construct...? That thing was a magical construct?  It had looked so real...it had MOVED so realistically.  And that bite...    
  
Wait.  "Wait a moment - I'll learn about it?  What do you mean?"  
  
She settled back into her chair, gracefully crossing one leg over the other and sitting in such a way that Onmund had the impression of a Jarl upon a throne.  "It has been quite some time since I've had an apprentice, and here one literally falls into my lap.  You should consider yourself lucky that you not only survived your tumble but found your way to me...though I question the 'how' and 'why' this happened."  She leaned back, one hand rubbing at her chin as she stared idly up at the ceiling in thought.  "No one should have been able to find a path down here...it's worrisome, but one must work with what they have."  
  
"Hang on, wait-" he repeated.  "What do you mean, apprentice?  I'm not your apprentice, I - I'm an apprentice at the College, we were working in Saarthal and they're going to notice I'm missing.  They'll be looking for me."  
  
Again she waved a hand, gaze dropping down from the ceiling to meet his own.  "That no longer matters, dear.  You are here and there will be no leaving...in fact, once I've seen you off to bed once again I will need to go try and seal up the -- the 'whatever' you fell through that dropped you down here.  I was so certain I had everything blocked up, sealed, and hidden..."  
  
"No, you don't understand - I can't stay here," Onmund insisted.  "You can't keep me here."  Very slowly she turned her head to fully regard him, wordlessly staring for an uncomfortably long time.  "--they're going to look for me and I need to go home," he added.  
  
Still she remained silent, expression one of polite neutrality...and, subtly, she began to change.  Her eyes went a deeper amber and seemed to glint at him unnaturally in the firelight, with a hint of a deep red at their core; her cheeks went gaunt, her skin steadily paling, and Onmund scrambled from his seat and backed away as she smiled and revealed a set of pointed, impossibly white fangs.  
  
"I do not normally repeat myself, my dear, but allow me to explain again: there is no leaving here.  None can know I exist down here and perhaps in time you'll be trusted enough to learn exactly why.  How you found your way to me was unfortunate and should not have been possible, but you are here now and there is no changing that.  You are apprentice...or you are prey.  Which would you prefer?"  
  
Vampire...she was a vampire!  He'd fallen into a vampire's den!  He needed to - he needed to get out of here, he-  
  
In the span of a blink he was on his back looking up at the ceiling, laying comfortably among the cushions and pillows in the corner beside the fire.  He didn't remember her moving, speaking, or moving him again, he was...just, here. Suddenly.  Heart pounding he floundered a bit among the pillows and got back to his feet, backing up until the wall was pressed in against his back.  
  
Kestrel had not moved and was watching him from her seat by the fire; she looked as she had before she'd revealed the gaunt, pale, fang-filled face, and she didn't look at all concerned about him either.  
  
"You cannot harm me.  Make your choice."  
  
"As though I'd trust a vampire's word!"  
  
She raised an eyebrow at him.  "If I wanted you dead you'd be dead, if I wanted you a thrall you would be enthralled.  You're far more valuable to me awake and aware, free of any sort of overbearing influence like a typical vampire would force upon you."  She rose from the chair in a fluid motion and began to walk slowly toward him.  
  
He inched along the wall, moving for the door, then turned and bolted; the door slammed shut well before he reached it and when he had he found it locked.  When he turned around he found she'd moved from the chairs to right behind him -- her arms were clasped behind her back, her head tilted as she considered him.  
  
"Get back!" he growled, lifting a hand to conjure a flame.  Once again in that brief moment of darkness that was a blink he'd been laid flat (this time in the floor rather than the pillows) and was staring up at not just the ceiling but her as well.  
  
"You cannot harm me," she repeated, stressing her words but keeping her tone soft.  "I really do not wish to waste you as a thrall, and I understand and sympathize with your situation more than you realize...but you in turn know nothing of me or my situation.  If you did you'd understand why I cannot let you leave.  If you hadn't reeked of potential I wouldn't have bothered to keep you in the first place, little mageling."  This time he did see her move - she curled a finger and he rose up from the floor, floating helplessly in front of her.  "Apprentice or prey?  There is no third choice."  
  
Onmund struggled against the invisible force that held him upright - it gave a bit, sort of like being mired in mud or jelly, but it held him firmly and there was no escaping it.  "I will not serve a vampire!"  
  
She rolled her eyes and huffed out a sigh through her nose.  "That is not my only defining feature.  That would be like me stating I will not serve a Nord - are you more than what your outer wrapping suggests?  I assure you I am, but what I am NOT is infinitely patient.  What is your choice?"  
  
Still he struggled against the woman's hold; there was no escaping this spell like this, and as he seemed to...black out, or otherwise lose a moment if he tried to attack or cast against her, there wasn't a means to escape that way either.  What he needed was time to think and examine this situation...time he wouldn't have if he kept fighting her now and she lost her patience with him.  
  
But how could he trust her?  How could he trust a vampire?  "How do I know you'll keep your word?"  
  
"A wise question," she said with a nod.  "And the answer is simply this: I have not lied to you, I do not intend to lie to you, and as I've mentioned already you are far, far more valuable to me as a free-willed man rather than a thrall.  How old I actually am is not up for discussion but in all my considerable years what I've desired more than anything, and place a high value on, is another sharp, inquisitive mind to discuss, debate, and unravel the mysteries of the world with.  I haven't had an apprentice in...quite some time.  It gets boring, and research and study stagnates when you only have a mindless arachnid keeping you company."  
  
"That means little when YOU hold all the power," he growled.  
  
She shrugged.  "Regardless, it can be considered a promise: I will share with you the whole of my knowledge - and there is quite a lot of it - and in return all you have to do is learn from me, keep me company, and not die.  In terms of complexity your half of this agreement is far more simple than mine."  
  
Again he tugged at the magic holding him suspended off the floor.  "-I am a student at the College, what could you hope to teach me that they could not?"  
  
"Another good question.  One I can answer by showing, rather than telling."    
  
Humming quietly she moved him away from the door and moved out into the hallway; he floated helplessly in her wake as she walked down the hall, passed the door to the room he'd awakened in, and to a door that was at the very opposite end of the hall from the sitting room.  The moment she opened the door he smelled parchment and dust - a lot of it - and with a flourish she lit the dozens of magelight lanterns hanging all around the room in a single gesture.  
  
An absolutely massive library was laid out before him; he stared, a bit in awe, at the sheer amount of books and scrolls, at the rows upon rows of shelves, cases, desks...this was easily a hundred times as many books as the College had, if not more...hells, this one room was maybe as large as the entire College itself -- it had been carved from the rock and soil and the ceiling far, far above his head was pointed with stalactites.   
  
"Does this adequately answer your question?"  
  
Abruptly the spell holding him let him drop to the floor, leaving him to stand at her side.  
  
His shocked look met her amused one.  "There's so many..."  
  
"There is.  Some I wrote myself but most have been acquired over my...ridiculously long lifetime.  You could say I have a slight problem with hoarding," she added with a small chuckle.  "But, here before you lays the sum of my knowledge -- and of course everything else on all the other shelves.  I could have put everything in here but then this place felt much less like a home and more like a...not even like a library, more like a mausoleum for books."  
  
He flinched when she rested a gentle hand on his shoulder but found himself unable to pull away from her grip.  "So that's it then...?  I stay here and learn, and you let me live?"  
  
"That's a rather morbid way of putting it but yes."  
  
"And you won't hurt me."  
  
"Of course not."  
  
"Don't vampires need blood?"  
  
She let out a thoughtful noise.  "...need?  Yes and no.  Feeding imparts a few useful perks but I won't up and die if I don't drink blood.  So no, I won't be feeding off you," she added dryly, looking over at him.  "I will yet again repeat that I don't want to turn or enthrall you, I want you sharp and free.  I want an apprentice, not a slave."  
  
Again the thought that he just needed more time to figure out how to escape...that if he was out from under her control and out of her sight, then just maybe...  
  
"A-all right, fine," he said slowly.  "I'll be your apprentice."  The smile she gave him was warm and friendly and he could almost forget the fangs he'd seen earlier.  Almost.  
  
"Splendid.  I cannot begin to express how pleased I am you made that choice.  Now, the room you awakened in is yours - I've had more than enough time to obtain everything a living person would need to be comfortable, but should you find something lacking let me know and I shall see what I can do to rectify it.  Any room you find unlocked you are free to explore -- there is nothing here that can harm you unless you well and truly screw a spell up."  
  
She took her hand from his shoulder and turned to the door.  "My room is across from the sitting area, come find me should you need something.  For now feel free to explore and settle in...we shall begin tomorrow."  
  
With that she left him alone within the library; for some time afterward he stood where he was, mind racing without really latching on to any one thing.  He needed to somehow escape here, or let the others know where he was being held...but how could he do that?  He had no idea how to send magical messages or if that was even possible, and he knew he'd fallen quite a ways before he'd blacked out -- surely they'd realize where he'd fallen through but how would they find him down here?  There was no way for him to know how far he'd fallen OR how far that spider thing may have carried him.  
  
Maybe... Maybe he could find his answer somewhere in these books.  A way to send a message, or --  
  
Or - and the thought excited him - a way to open a portal from here to wherever he chose.  He knew portals were possible but highly dangerous, but if it got him away from here and to freedom wouldn't it be worth the risk?  
  
Quickly he moved over to the nearest bookshelf and began skimming the titles and, once he'd looked over the entire shelf plus the next two in line, he realized with some dismay that there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to how the books were arranged on the shelves...it could take him ages to find a book about portals or magical messages and the thought deflated that brief feeling of hope he'd had when the thought had first come to him.  
  
...no, he couldn't give up so soon.  So what if there were hundreds upon thousands of books here?  If he was careful and didn't alert Kestrel to his plan he could eventually find what he was looking for, or maybe even be clever enough to coax her to teach him herself.  
  
He had to cling to hope.  Somehow he would find a way home...he just needed to be smart about it, bide his time...play this vampire's game, and stay alive long enough to learn what he needed to to escape.  
  
He couldn't give up this quickly.


	3. Chapter 3

At first he didn't think he'd find anything more pressing to worry about than his escape...it didn't take long to discover he was wrong.  
  
He had been here...five days according to his sleep cycle and not once had he felt hungry or thirsty; Kestrel hadn't offered or seemed to even have food down here (and it was clear she didn't need that herself) and from what he'd found in small amount of exploring he'd done so far this place seemed entirely encased in dirt and stone - no ice that he could find or get at to melt and drink.  If it had been one or two days he could possibly understand that -- his fall and the scare of the spider's bite had been rather traumatic, and the fear and stress of knowing that he was essentially Kestrel's prisoner could be distracting enough to make him completely miss the signals of his body's needs.  
  
But...no.  There was no hunger, or thirst (or even a need to relieve himself) -- he felt just fine, and couldn't imagine how or why.  
  
Could it be related to that strange ritual he half remembered?  The one where he'd awakened in time to watch the snake-ropes moving, and the runes searing themselves into his skin?  Onmund had spent a few afternoons trying every method he knew (admittedly he didn't know many) to detect if there was a spell or enchantment placed on him and he'd been unable to find any trace of one.  
  
He supposed he could ask her what might be wrong with him but there was no telling if she'd be telling him the truth...maybe she'd even be convinced he was ill somehow, which he felt he definitely was not.  
  
It was concerning enough that it was difficult to really concentrate on these first "lessons" of hers that seemed more meant to assess his current skill; she'd put him through a lot of simple exercises of casting and identifying spells and he found that he was both irritated that she seemed less than impressed with him and also that it bothered him -- he wasn't here to actually learn from her so why had his pride stung when he'd seen such disappointment in her face?  
  
These little assessments had only lasted a few hours each and then he was left to do whatever he pleased for the rest of the day; after each lesson Onmund had immediately returned to the library to continue his desperate search for anything that would help him escape - each evening he stayed later and later, and he paid for it on the morning of his eighth day when Kestrel woke him much, much earlier than she had the other mornings.  
  
As usual she'd knocked until he'd answered, then remained standing outside his room until he'd dressed and came out on his own; he hadn't been expecting to be awakened so early so this morning he was groggy and slow, and took longer to pull on the simple linen shirt and leather breeches he'd taken to wearing that he'd found in the wardrobe of his room (he was surprised to find the clothing there was relatively the right size - the shirts were meant for a man larger than he was but the pants fit all right).  There was a part of him that wanted to ask where his robes had gone - this clothing was comfortable enough but it lacked any sort of enchantments - but since he planned on leaving as soon as possible anyway he supposed it didn't matter if it was in his own clothing or these borrowed ones.  
  
"Late night, apprentice?" she'd asked, seeming amused, when he'd finally stumbled through the doorway.  
  
"I ah, I got caught up in reading," he muttered.  He rubbed at his eyes and felt the grit of sleep still in the corners, and digging it out with a fingernail made his eyes water.  
  
"I can imagine so.  Come along, we're trying something different today."  
  
As he wiped his eyes dry he followed along behind her, noting that today instead of silk robes that wouldn't be amiss in a Jarl's court she instead wore a set of leather armor that was the same pale tan as dessert sand -- well, he didn't know if he should call it armor or riding gear, as it was too heavy to be casual clothing but not really heavy enough to be of much protection.  The sleeves were cut short and left her arms bare from elbow to fingertips, revealing a thin silver band on her right middle finger; the top of the armor looked like a leather vest over a leather shirt yet it was one piece, with a buckled strap across the top of her breasts, at the ribcage, and three just above her waist.  Her pants were unadorned leather and tucked into knee-high boots which had visible (but empty) dagger sheaths attached on the outer side of each boot.    
  
All of the straps on her top had small pouches on them and she had a very faint smell to her that brought to mind a graveyard - were those spell components?  Despite himself (and despite his grogginess) he couldn't help but feel a spark of interest in what she might be trying to show him today...at the very least he hoped it wouldn't be something else detrimental to his pride as the last couple of lessons had been.  
  
"I have seen what you're capable of and what you've been taught, and I have been thinking on how best to proceed," she said as they walked.  "I believe I have settled on where to begin your instruction."  
  
His only answer was a grunt as he plodded along after her; at this end of the hall was the sitting room, and across from that was Kestrel's room -- she went to the door just before the one to her room, unlocking and pushing it open in one smooth motion.  With a gesture she indicated he should enter before she did and after a pause (he didn't want her at his back...but she could have killed him in his sleep by now, if she truly wanted him dead) he stepped inside.  
  
This room was colder than the other rooms he'd been into - his bedroom, the library, the little alchemy and enchanting workrooms, the sitting room - and it was pitch black inside when she stepped through behind him and shut the door.  Onmund heard a very soft whisper and a series of small braziers mounted along the walls at about head height all began to ignite and burn, each one lighting in turn starting with the ones nearest them and extending down the length of a room easily the size of the library.  
  
And the room looked to be made entirely of ice or glass panels of various sizes and set at differing angles, with a few giant boulders and carved triangular monoliths scattered across the room.  As the braziers lit and the light reflected from the polished surfaces their reflections began to appear all around them - so many images, at many different angles, and even the ceiling had the same reflective qualities.  
  
"...what is this place?"  
  
Kestrel nodded with some satisfaction and waited for all the braziers to light before she answered.  "I call this room the Hall of Mirrors - you can stand anywhere and see all possible views of yourself.  It is very useful when you are practicing your form or wanting to see what a spell looks like as it travels from you, where it manifested, to wherever it is you've directed it.  For the time being we shall be working in here."  
  
Onmund stared around in amazement, seeing his own face looking back at him everywhere he looked.  "-working.  Doing what?"  
  
"I have decided that the first thing we shall do is unlearn the habits your little College has taught you.  Here within the Hall you will learn from the ground up based on MY teachings and techniques, which I assure you are far more advanced than what I've seen out of you...I question what they're even teaching anymore.  It certainly doesn't seem very comprehensive."  
  
"The College is a highly respected place of learning," Onmund snapped, his own tone surprising him.  "Don't judge it based on what I know."  
  
Kestrel waved a hand and rolled her eyes.  "Yes, yes, no need to be so touchy.  It just seems that basic instruction has gone considerably downhill since my time among mortals.  In fact, I will demonstrate.  Conjure for me a small amount of water - you need no container, just produce the water and let it fall."  
  
"Water?" he repeated.  "I... I don't know that spell."  
  
"Yes you do."  
  
"No, I don't," he said again.  "You've already seen the spells I know.  I do not know how to conjure water."  
  
She lifted her hand up to her bicep and brought it down in a snapping motion, ending with her hand parallel to the ground at her waist with her palm facing up; with a brief flash of blue a shard of ice appeared there, floating just above her palm.  She pointed to it with her other hand.  "What's this?"  
  
He had a feeling he knew where this was going.  "It's ice.  Frozen water," he added with a sigh.  
  
"Correct."  She let the shard drop and kicked it to the side, sending it sliding across the floor to the wall.  "Now, what's this?"  She repeated the exact same motion only this time a shimmering blob of water appeared in place of the ice shard.  
  
"Water."  
  
The woman chuckled quietly and Onmund tried not to bristle at it or otherwise show a reaction - she was treating him like a child and he didn't care for it.  
  
"Very good," she said after a pause.  Like she had with the ice she let the water drop and it splashed to the floor and over their boots.  "What is the difference between them?"  
  
"One is frozen, the other isn't.  It's two different things."  
  
"Technically, yes.  Magically, no."  She extended a hand to the nearest towering monolith and send a thundering blast of lightning into its side, leaving a wide black scorch mark on its surface.  "What was that?"  
  
"Lightning.  Is there a point to this?"  
  
She repeated her gesture and instead of the crackle of lightning Onmund heard the deep thrum of a massive gust of wind - he even felt pulled forward as the blast of air left Kestrel's hands and harmlessly struck the monolith and blew away loose specks of seared dust.  "What was that?"  
  
"Wind," he growled.  "Again, it's different.  It's two different things."  
  
"That is where you're wrong, and why I am not impressed with your basic learning from this College of yours," Kestrel said softly.  "And this is why we shall begin here.  We shall keep our first session fairly simple today: you are to conjure water for me, and neither of us are going anywhere until you do."  
  
\--------------------------------------------------  
  
By the time Onmund was allowed to return to his own room he was too tired to even think about going to the library; he hadn't managed to conjure the water Kestrel had required of him and the only thing he'd accomplished all day was coating one of the monoliths in a sheet of ice and frost.  
  
And he was so tired that it wasn't until he was undressed and in bed that he remembered he'd meant to ask Kestrel about the ritual he'd seen in his dream -- at the very least learning how to conjure water would solve that half of the problem (assuming he ever _felt_ thirsty) but he needed an answer to his dilemma - the sooner the better.  
  
The next morning she didn't come for him so early but she did set him to the same task: conjure water, and no leaving the Hall until he did. The ability to watch himself fail from twenty different angles was maddening and after a few hours of attempts he angrily kicked at the monolith then slumped down with his back against it.  
  
Kestrel raised an eyebrow.  "Giving up so soon?"  
  
"It's two different spells!" he all but yelled.  "And you won't teach me the one I need for this!"  
  
The small smile - a smirk, really - that she gave him made him even angrier.  "I assure you, apprentice, you already have the knowledge needed to do this.  You're fixating on the fact you only "know" how to create frost and ice -- what is water but unfrozen ice?  Sit, and think: what about the ice-creating spell you have is something you can change?"  
  
Grinding his teeth together he sat there and resolved not to answer even though he knew (or assumed) that the answer was a matter of temperature -- it was THE only difference between ice and water, after all.  Kestrel stood patiently, hands clasped behind her back, and seemed just as determined to stand there and await his answer as he was determined not to give it.  
  
And there they remained - for hours, Onmund felt.  Never once did her patient look falter and she did little more than occasionally shift her weight from one leg to the other; Onmund was starting to grow sleepy (most likely from boredom) when he finally stirred and glared up at her.  
  
"Are we done?"  
  
Kestrel tilted her head.  "Have you conjured water?"  
  
He ground his teeth together again, growling.  "I don't know how."  
  
"You do."  
  
"No I don't!"  
  
She rolled her eyes and gestured, sending a blob of water rocketing over to splatter across his face; all in one motion he wiped his eyes clean and, in a surge or anger, lifted his hand toward her, and just as it had happened all the other times he'd tried to send a spell at her he seemed to just...lose a moment or two, "waking" to find himself slumped against the monolith as though he'd not moved at all.  
  
She hadn't moved either and wore that familiar look of disapproval he'd been seeing over the last several days.  "Do try to avoid being a frustrated child and conduct yourself with the grace I would expect from a grown man.  Now get up and try again."  
  
"How many times must I say I don't know how?"  
  
"As many times as it takes you to realize what you need to do.  I'll give you a hint: there's more than a single answer to it."  
  
He felt a stinging against his palms and realized he was clenching his fists, digging his fingernails into his skin; what did she want from him?  She was demanding a spell he didn't know how to cast -- the one spell he knew, he knew he couldn't alter.  
  
...right?  
  
After a moment (and after dragging his sleeves over his face to dry himself off) he inhaled and exhaled slowly, then stood and squared his shoulders.  "I can't do what you're asking me to do.  No amount of...of mocking me, is going to change that."  
  
She cupped a hand around the opposite elbow, that hand making a little spinning motion next to her head.  "You're halfway there, get those mental gears grinding.  You are convinced you do not know, so how do you fix that?"  
  
For a moment he just stared at her - here again was an answer he knew, but this was another one of her little tests...and what good was a test if he could just ask her for the answers?  
  
"...well?" she prompted.  
  
"I should just ask?" he tried.  
  
She nodded.  "Correct."  
  
"But why?  You're clearly testing me.  Why give me the answer?"  
  
"Ordinarily I wouldn't," she answered with a small shrug.  "But, I do not want you afraid to ask for my help.  It is my desire to guide you to a point where you can be presented with all the pieces to the puzzle and see how it fits together on your own.  And then, once you have the puzzle solved?  I want you able to understand _why_ you came to the conclusion you did, and be able to look back over what you've done and seek other ways to solve the puzzle again to suit various needs."  She gestured for him to come closer; he walked over to stand in front of her then turned around (uneasily) when she placed hands on his shoulders and gently turned him toward the nearby monolith.  
  
"Face the stone there and cast as you normally would."  
  
Onmund took a steadying breath and held out a hand, sending a blast of white-glowing frost roaring toward the monolith.  He felt a gentle touch on his lower back and a tugging at his...his inner energies, he thought -- that resevoir within him that he relied on to cast spells; his spell flickered as his energies shifted and a shudder ran down his spine as Kestrel manipulated the very flow of his magicka.  
  
The manipulation felt strange, and as the magicka left his body the spell itself didn't seem to change much.  It was akin to reciting a poem with a single word swapped with its synonym: the meaning was not changed in the end - it did not become a separate poem with the change of a word but it was still technically different.  
  
From his palm then came a spout of water that soaked the monolith in those few seconds before he stopped channeling out of surprise.  
  
"What did you do?" he asked, spinning around to face her.  
  
She lowered her hand - he assumed she'd had it on his back - and looked between him and the soaked stone.  "Did you feel it?"  
  
"I- yes, I felt...something. What did you do?"  
  
"I imagine when you're taught spells that you are told magic is sorted into very specific...classes, or schools?"  
  
Onmund nodded.  "Well, yes.  Alteration, restoration, destruction..."  He trailed off as Kestrel was shaking her head halfway through his answer.  
  
"Yes yes, I see little has changed - _technically_ that is correct.  Under what school would you place the spell to create water?"  
  
Onmund paused; the spell was, essentially, a frost spell -- that would place it within the Destruction school...but an orb of water didn't seem very...destructive.  There was the Alteration school where it _might_ fit, since there were spells that dealt with giving the caster the ability to breathe underwater and it also allowed the conjuring of balls of light which, while it wasn't conjuring water it was still conjuring SOMETHING.  And of course there was the Conjuration school but the only real connection there was the use of the word 'conjure' -- the school itself dealt strictly with the summoning of weapons and creatures, and dipped into necromancy as well.  
  
"I... I don't know," he finally answered.  "It's born out of a spell that is defined in the Destruction school, but it's about as damaging as taking a bath."  
  
"Is it?  Do you think the hurricane or the broken dam to be as harmless as a bath?"  
  
Onmund frowned.  "Well, no, of course not.  It's-"  he paused.  "-it's...it's not that simple to define."  
  
Kestrel nodded.  "Exactly.  It's not.  I imagine the mages of your current time like to say this spell or that fits into a very narrowly defined school or class of spell, but I changed one very minor, tiny thing, and suddenly a spell fits nowhere based on the definitions you've learned.  So what, then, do we do?"  
  
"I don't really know.  Wouldn't it still just be a - I guess a subset of Destruction, somehow?"  
  
"Why would it be?  Why should it be?"  
  
"It - it came from a destruction spell, so that's where it should belong," he replied.  "...right?"  
  
"You tell me."  
  
He huffed out a frustrated sigh.  "I've already said I don't know."  
  
"Which is fine," she said, tone kind.  "Admitting you don't know something isn't shameful.  What IS shameful is refusing to look for the answer, or refusing to examine the answers you have for truthfulness."  With a flick of her fingers the door to the Hall opened behind her.  "What's left of the day is yours, apprentice.  I'd like for you to consider what you've learned here today and be ready tomorrow to replicate the spell as I have shown you."  
  
Giving her a wide berth Onmund slipped out of the door and hurried down the hall to his room, stepping inside and then leaning against the door after he'd shut it behind himself; he had to admit she'd given him a lot to think about -- he'd never even considered if it was possible to alter a spell, especially one that was in such widespread use...and he'd never seen anyone at the College tweak a spell like that mid-cast.  
  
He stood there and turned it over in his head a few times, then looked up to stare across the room without really seeing anything in front of him.  Her example of a hurricane came to mind - that sort of thing WAS destructive, and was made up of--  
  
"...water, and wind," he whispered, brow furrowing.    
  
And water and wind were the demonstrated results of her altering the shock and frost spells that he already knew.  His claim that water wasn't destructive was, for the most part, wrong...water was as equally harmless as destructive, which was the same for fire now that he was thinking about it; his gaze dropped to the fireplace, then moved around the room to the lanterns and candles.  If he was going to argue that a water-creating spell didn't belong in the Destruction school then he'd have to say the same for fire too.  And wind was just as equally damaging and not, so the argument applied there as well.  
  
...maybe she did have a point that the magic schools, at their most basic, actually were too narrowly defined, and he should instead be considering those spells in terms of what they DID versus what they WERE.  
  
But again there was the problem of a spell both belonging in a magic school and then not belonging in that school based on how it was being wielded -- lighting a fireplace was a very different kind of "destructive" from setting someone or something on fire offensively, or even defensively.  
  
So then...did the school distinction even really matter for some spells?  
  
Sighing heavily he rubbed at his face, then lightly banged his head against the door behind him -- confusing considerations about magical schools aside he'd once again forgotten to ask her about that half-remembered ritual.  
  
Tomorrow morning...first thing.  He would do nothing else until he'd asked and gotten his answer.


	4. Chapter 4

At his question she'd paused - she didn't seem...angry with him, or otherwise like she was going to try and lie to him, and in a way he found that somewhat comforting despite how his heart pounded.

"I was hoping you weren't awake long enough to notice anything," she said after a moment. "-truthfully, whether you remembered it or not I was going to tell you regardless. I did want to give it some time - to check if it functioned as it should with the changes, and of course so there'd be some measure of trust built between us...but considering one of the more obvious effects I suppose it's rather foolish in hindsight to have expected you to remain quiet. Come along - let's sit and talk."

At first he thought they were going to the Hall of Mirrors again but instead she continued on to the sitting room; by the time he caught up and got through the door she was already sitting in a chair at the fireplace. She gestured for him to sit in the one beside her then lit the logs in the fireplace with a wave of her hand. Onmund knew she'd probably just move him again if he didn't sit where she'd "told" him to so he walked over to perch on the edge of the chair beside her, sinking his fingers into the leather wrapped around the armrests.

She slumped comfortably in her chair, the soles of her boots propped up on the hearth. "You are certainly not my first apprentice, of course," she started. "Over my exceptionally long lifetime I have taught many, for better or worse. The last apprentice I had, we grew close...very close. And I had no desire to outlive him, nor would I dare turn him just to keep him with me. We worked together on a spell meant to share certain characteristics between us."

"Such as?" he prompted when she fell silent.

"-such as," she went on, "removing your need to eat or drink, by sharing with you the fact that I do not need to. Likewise, so long as I exist, you will remain immortal -- well, immortal in that you will not die of old age. I can't protect you entirely from harm but I can from the passage of time."

Onmund's eyes widened - he was...he was _immortal?_ Impossible. It had to be impossible. He'd heard of mages extending their lives considerably with the assistance of magic but there always seemed to be terrible consequences to go along with it... There were recorded accounts of mages meddling with power they shouldn't in their struggle to cling to life and Onmund had zero desire to wither away to nothingness or have his sanity erode, nor did he want to end up like the Augur of Dunlain or something similar where he became tethered to something that, should it be disrupted, destroyed, or damaged, would mean he would suddenly cease to exist.

And of course there were the stories of mages turning themselves into horrific undead monsters...Kestrel was, after all, a vampire herself, though there was a tiny nagging voice in his head arguing that she her actions thus far weren't remotely monstrous. And that voice was right in that she'd not tried to harm him (she hadn't even so much as raised her voice with him) and now she'd even...

"I'm...immortal," he repeated after a long pause. "How?"

"It's part of the spell tethering us together. You do not need food or drink, you will not age - this comes from me, from what I am sharing with you."

"That's - I can't..."

'I don't understand,' he wanted to say. But he knew there wasn't much there to not understand in general...being immortal was fairly straightforward, and it DID explain why he'd not felt hungry or thirsty all this time. It just seemed...impossible.

"Then what do you get from me?" he finally asked.

Kestrel shrugged. "Nothing at the same level as what you are receiving... I look a bit more normal, now. My heart is beating again, sort of, for the first time in about fifty years. I'm fairly certain I was sweating earlier and I can't remember the last time THAT happened. What I gain isn't important: this spell was created so I would not outlive my last apprentice. That was the only singular goal, but I cannot give without taking it seems. It wasn't intended but the spell demanded a balance."

For a long time he was silent, mulling that over; it was so hard to believe that he was immortal, supposedly...time was no longer an issue for him. Something about that both excited and terrified him, as well as brought to mind a sort of sadness knowing that now HE was in Kestrel's position of outliving everyone he'd ever known, and she'd not even given him a choice in the matter.

"I... Why would you do this? Why would you do this to me?" He looked up from his lap to stare over at her. "You've forced this on me without even asking."

Her expression softened and she nodded. "Not entirely without asking, but I know. Believe me, I thought about it for some time...it was not a snap decision. My pet's toxin had you unconscious for several days, and for several days I considered what I should do." She sat up straighter, moving to sit on the edge of her chair while turning her knees (and herself) toward him. "I just want you to understand -- after you became trapped in that webbing and were brought to me I found you had some magical talent - unguided and wasted but the potential was there. If you had refused my offer to become my apprentice, or if you hadn't any sort of magical talent at all I would have been forced to enthrall or kill you."

"Why?"

She waved a hand, flicking her fingers toward the ceiling. "Above us was once the Eye of Magnus, correct? I know you must know as I felt its removal not long ago."

Onmund paused yet knew he couldn't lie about it if she already knew they'd taken it from the ruins. "Yes, it - it was, yes."

"There is something far more dangerous than that here, and I was using the Eye's presence to mask it. No matter how anyone comes to know of my home here my choice is either take them, one way or another, or kill them. There can be no other choice...this place must be kept secret, and as you somehow fell down here when there should have been no possible way for that to happen then I already fear that unwanted eyes have turned toward me again."

"Wait wait wait," Onmund interrupted. This was a lot to suddenly take in and it was giving him a sort of...panicky, restless feeling. He was immortal, he was the captive apprentice of a powerful vampire who would have otherwise killed him, and now there was something even worse than the Eye nearby -- trying to get it all in order made his head hurt. "What's down here? Why can't I just go home? I won't tell anyone about you and if it's impossible to get down here what does it matter?"

"-it does matter, because you DID find your way down here," Kestrel said, quickly butting in before he could ask more questions. "As for what's down here...you aren't ready to learn about it. Now, don't give me that look-" she held up a hand as he spun toward her in irritation. "This...this thing is powerful. Very powerful. And dangerous...you worried about ME enthralling you? This would do the very same thing if you so much as looked at it unprepared. You do not have the mental fortitude, not yet. I'm afraid to even name it... I mean it, Onmund. You _should not_ have been able to fall down here. When I created this place centuries ago I sealed everything around me closed. Do you know how difficult it is to move - not vanish - that much soil and stone? It took me nearly a decade to dig this place out and close the way behind me. I left everything solid - everything - and yet, you fell through somehow."

"I wouldn't have if I'd had the choice!" he huffed. "I don't want to be here!"

"We can't change that now," Kestrel said softly. "I absolutely will kill you if I must, Onmund. But I would much rather have you alive, awake, and learning under me. Look at what I've already shown you in a matter of days. Imagine what else I can teach you."

"That's not the point - I don't want to be here. I want to go home. I don't care what you can teach me."

She was silent, studying him; her expression was so neutral and unchanging it was somewhat uncanny - like he was looking at a wooden doll. A feeling of dread was beginning to grow in the pit of his stomach and before he was really aware of it he found himself standing and taking small steps backward from her; without a word she turned to face the fire again -- he felt suddenly foolish (where was he going to run, exactly?) as well as irritated she could dismiss him so easily.

And then...

"If that is how you truly feel, then there is only way one to end this."

Her voice was soft and the dread intensified, followed by a sudden sharp pain that started at his stomach and began to twist outward; after the sudden sharpness it faded to a deep burning pain and a heat flooded him, head to toe. A glimmer of light, like a flame, flickered across his arm and caught his attention and he realized with some horror that the runes he'd half-dreamed being itched into his body were beginning to light up and were burning all the way up his arm and down across his chest when he yanked his shirt up to check.

"Wait-"

The pain spiked again and dropped him to his knees with a gasp, then his entire body felt like it was on fire; he writhed in the floor, slamming his head into the edge of the hearth, gasping then screaming as the agony kept growing.

"Wait, wait-"

_WAIT. PLEASE._

\-----------------------------------------

For a second time Onmund woke when he wasn't expecting to.

He felt sweaty, shaking, and weak; every bit of him ached and when he shifted his head a tiny bit and his skin pulled it felt as though he had a sunburn across every inch of him.

But he was...alive. He was breathing. And he wasn't in the sitting room anymore but had been returned to his bedroom; there was only a single lantern on his desk that was lit and next to it was a familiar silhouette bent over a book, reading.

He went to sit up and a pain shot through his head then began to throb; with a whimper he shut his eyes and waited for the throbbing to subside, and could head the scrape of a chair and the rustle of cloth somewhere beside him.

When he finally felt strong enough to open his eyes again he found Kestrel at his bedside; she'd brought the lantern over and had it sitting on the short table beside the bed with only one side of it open and aimed at the wall -- the indirect light didn't illuminate her enough for him to clearly see her face and that troubled him.

"Awake, I see."

Though she'd been barely louder than a whisper it send another round of throbbing through his head; all he could manage was a grunt in response and after a breath or two she rested a cold hand across his forehead.

"You asked me to wait, so I have. It is now up to you to determine whether I have made a mistake or not."

She had actually tried to do it...she'd tried to kill him, because he'd...

'What is down here that is so dangerous?' he found himself thinking. The thought surprised him -- here he felt that he should be furious at her for coming so close to killing him or for having tortured him, or even being fearful of her wouldn't be amiss, but instead his mind fixated on the singular thought of what could possibly be down here that she was so adamant about hiding.

'The Eye of Magnus was dangerous in the wrong hands,' his brain went on. 'Look what happened with Ancano. And here is this woman protecting something even worse.'

...and if he was trapped down here with her then technically HE was guarding it too, if indirectly.

'What is down here?' he repeated over and over in his mind as he stared blearily up at Kestrel's darkened face. He couldn't muster the strength to talk or move and could barely keep his eyes open; her cold hand on his forehead was soothing and his eyes slipped closed again into a fitful sleep.

When he woke again he felt considerably better. Kestrel had moved back to his desk to read and again returned to his bedside when she noticed him stirring once more.

"How are you feeling?"

"Alive," he croaked. "Though I don't understand why."

"Because I've spared you a second time. There won't be a third," she said - her tone was soft but firm and now, after having suffered through burning from the inside out, Onmund knew better than to think she was bluffing.

"I...I understand." He struggled to raise up on his elbows and felt the familiar sensation of Kestrel's magic extending out to effortlessly lift him upright to sit; his head swam and his stomach turned and in the dim light he squinted at her uncertainly. "I..."

"I have explained as much as I'm willing to at this point. I will not share more until I feel we trust one another...I have done a great deal more for you than I have for any other. Do you understand?"

He nodded and immediately regretted it as it sent a fresh wave of nausea over him; he heaved a bit and then, right before he vomited into his own lap a clay bowl seemed to pop into existence from nowhere and he spewed into it -- it was thankfully just bile inside his gut as the last thing he'd eaten was days ago and had been only a pair of apples and the bowl was more than large enough to hold such a pitiful amount. Once he was emptied he squeezed his eyes shut again, feeling a deep sense of embarrassment, but Kestrel calmly sat the bile-filled bowl on the floor at her feet and removed a handkerchief from somewhere within the sash of her robes. She conjured a small globe of water in one hand and wetted the handkerchief with her other then patiently wiped his mouth clean, and then used a clean corner of the cloth to wipe the sweat from his face.

Onmund was torn between being insulted at being treated like a child and also a sort of gratitude at the tenderness -- in that moment she reminded him of his own mother and not of the vampire that had just tried to kill him.

"I'll...I'll stay..." he whispered, slowly easing himself back down onto his pillow. "I'll stay...I'm sorry."

Kestrel nodded slowly and reached out to smooth the hair back from his face. "Then I too am sorry, apprentice. But now I hope you understand how serious of a situation you have literally fallen into. Rest now - you'll feel better soon."

She got up and went to return the chair to his desk, then blew out the lantern and silently moved to the doorway in the pitch dark; when she was framed in the doorway Onmund half rolled toward her.

"Wait - please...please just tell me what's down here."

She paused - he couldn't see more than her silhouette again - then sighed, shoulders slumping. "In time. We will work on strengthening you so you can see it for yourself."

With that she silently shut the door behind her; feeling frustrated and sick Onmund settled back into his pillow, actually grateful for the comfort of the bed he lay in and, as he drifted back to sleep, wondered what stuffed both the mattress and pillow to have made them so plump and spongy.

This was, whether he liked it or not, home now...this was his bed, his room. He should probably get used to that.


	5. Chapter 5

In the two days it took to recover Onmund had a lot of time to think.

The thought of such casually granted immortality was overwhelmingly daunting at first but then he remembered she'd said "as long as she existed" -- if something were to happen to her then he'd go back to normal. Probably. The odds of that happening when it was just the two of them (and with him seemingly unable to harm her) were basically nonexistent but it was still a tiny bit of comfort knowing it wasn't something permanent, and there might even be a chance to reverse the spell sometime in the future...again, he didn't think he had very good odds of that happening but he had to keep his hopes up as resigning himself to living forever wasn't something he would find peace with any time soon.

And thinking on it brought up another question in his mind: if she created this spell with the help of an apprentice, and shared this same gift with him, _where was that apprentice?_ Why was Kestrel alone down here if she'd given immortality to someone else before Onmund had come along? He felt he should ask but almost feared the answer; strangely he found it was much easier to come to terms with his captivity than this whole immortality thing and all that was related to it.

When he was recovered Kestrel continued on as though nothing had happened -- she had him practicing altering the frost and shock spells he knew, both at the start of the cast and mid-channel. The more he practiced the easier it became - not because it was difficult in the first place but because he was letting go of what he knew about them, which he assumed was Kestrel's intention; she wanted him to learn her teachings rather than cling to what he'd been taught at the College and bit by bit he was doing that naturally (not that he really cared about whether he should or shouldn't - this was new, it was interesting, and it was something he'd never been taught before). It did make him wonder why no one at the College had cast like this, or even spoke of the ability to do so...was this sort of thing once common knowledge? He didn't think magic would have changed much over time but people certainly had, and if there had been enough of a push to teach only THIS or only THAT sort of magic and specific, limited ways of casting (and certain _ways_ of thinking) then it seemed possible to him that this knowledge could have been buried and lost.

(It brought him a bit of amusement to realize that 'buried' was a literal term for him, considering where he was).

Once he'd more or less mastered the alterations she set him to a new task: cast one spell with one hand, and something else with the other.

"It can be the paired spells we've been working with," she went on, demonstrating by sending a spray of water and a blast of frost in opposite directions from each hand. "However you'd like to try it, but I want - as you're so fond of insisting - two different spells from either hand at the same time."

At least THIS was something he already could do. Sort of. He knew how - it was one of the most recent things he'd learned at the College - but he wasn't very practiced at it. At the very least he shouldn't look like an idiot this time (he hoped).

First he tried with fire in his right hand and frost in the other - the radius of each wasn't nearly as wide as it would have been if he'd been casting with all his attention on one or the other but he managed it, and felt a small amount of pride at Kestrel's approving nod. It wasn't all that difficult, really...not until he tried throwing water from one hand and fire from the other, anyway. Spells he knew by heart weren't a problem but when he added in the extra step of altering the frost to water the fire in the other hand sputtered out as his focus shifted.

Kestrel smiled faintly at him. "Not as easy as you were expecting, I bet."

"Not on my first try, anyway," Onmund grumbled quietly. "I'm not used to splitting my attention like this."

"Practice makes perfect. Continue."

And practice did eventually make...passable, and it took him two weeks to get the hang of it; there was something very satisfying about finally reaching the point of being able to send a spell - any of the spells he knew, altered or not - out of each hand though there was still a size difference in the spread when he was dual casting compared to casting with one hand or the same spell with both. Kestrel seemed pleased with his progress and set him little challenges like rapidly shifting between the spells with as little time as possible between them, or cast with one hand then pass that spell to the other and start another casting in the same instant with the hand he'd emptied -- there were a lot of them and they were challenging but not impossible, and while he failed them at first (and it was annoyingly embarrassing to realize how terrible he was at multitasking) with repetition and the occasional word of encouragement, hint, or tip Onmund felt he was truly starting to..."master" wasn't quite the word he wanted to use but it was close enough.

"We shall try something different today," was her greeting that morning when he walked out of his room to meet her.

That little spark of interest and eagerness shot through him again. "Oh? How different?"

"You'll find out shortly. Come along."

He was finding she said that a lot, "come along." He didn't really have a choice in the matter, and as soon as the thought came to mind he buried it under the surge of eagerness he'd felt just a moment earlier - it was easier to forget that he was a captive if he focused just on his lessons, and the thrill in general he felt when he learned something new; that little thrill was no different here than it had been when he'd been at College and was a familiar, comfortable feeling overall.

They reached the Hall of Mirrors and rather than take her place not far from the door Kestrel quickly jogged out to the nearest monolith and turned to face him.

"I assume you were taught more advanced spells - specifically, fireballs and the like."

Onmund nodded. "Fireballs, bolts of lightning, ice shards... A bit more advanced than what you've had me working on, yes."

"And what of warding spells?"

"A...few. Mostly meant for myself."

Kestrel nodded. "Show me."

Onmund held up his hands and called one of the lesser wards to himself - a rippling shell of magic that was tinged a pale teal surrounded him in a partial circle, protecting him from every angle except from behind.

Kestrel nodded again and then quicker than he could react sent a fireball blasting into and then through it, shattering the ward and knocking him flat on his back; landing in the floor blasted the air out of him and he lay there, stunned, for several raspy breaths as he tried to fill his lungs properly.

"Is that the strongest one you know?"

Again she didn't seem impressed and, with a slightly red face and an aching head he climbed back to his feet. "N-no, it's not. This one is-" Again he raised up a shimmering shield, putting more of his power behind it.

And again with a single cast - this time one of ice, with a blunt, wide shard in its center - easily shattered his defenses and knocked him from his feet again.

"I didn't realize you were going to abuse me today," he muttered, clambering to his feet again and watching her warily for any other incoming spell. If those had broken his wards that damn easily he was actually somewhat terrified of what they might have done to him if he hadn't been protected.

There was also the nagging doubt that she'd even thrown something fully powered at him - a thought that was also terrifying.

"I feel it's good to make a very direct point early on," she chuckled quietly. "Now, tell me - why did your wards fail?"

"You overpowered them, obviously," he answered. "They can only take so much damage before they break."

"And why is that?"

"...because you're clearly stronger than they."

She shook her head. "No, no, I meant, why is it that they can only withstand so much?"

"Well... Nothing can withstand forever, right?" He actually had no idea what strengthened the ward - was it raw magicka dumped into it, a matter of concentration, was it a series of separate spells of varying strengths?

"Technically you're correct, but only regarding physical items. What about a ward spell makes it break so easily? What strengthens it? Or, more specifically, what can you do to strengthen or prolong it?"

"I'm... I'm not sure."

"Fair enough. Cast it again."

Onmund again raised his hands and wrapped the ward around himself, shifting his feet to brace himself in case she went to bowl him over again; instead of a spell sent careening his way she walked over calmly and held a hand inside and just outside of the ward, sandwiching it between her palms.

"This ward is powerful against lesser enemies." Her face rippled and seemed otherworldly and frightening through the shimmer and shine of the ward. "But a minor detail you have missed is _how_ I shattered this. What did I do?"

Onmund looked at her curiously - he was missing something? "-you struck it with a spell stronger than it could stand."

"I did. But what about that detail do you think caused the shield to break? Think - think on the _shape_ of the spells you know."

The shape... First it had been a fireball, and then a shard of ice - both had easily broken the ward and knocked him on his backside...so what was the similarity between them...

They were both more powerful than the spray-type of spells he knew and could be fired from a further distance because they weren't so widespread as the other-

Wait, that was it: the fireball and ice shard weren't a wide spray. The frost spell, for example, spread its destructive force over a wide area but wasn't very strong, but the ice shard? That was a lot of power concentrated in a very small point.

"The spells you sent at me were a lot of force in a small package," he said then. "The other spells I know spread their damage out over a much wider area, and the two that broke the wards had all of their damage concentrated at one small point. It broke the ward like a hammer to glass because of how the force was applied."

She smiled widely at him. "You caught on quicker than I'd expected, that's good. And yes, you're correct. These sort of protective ward spells that are focused - centered - on yourself can take a great amount of damage _provided_ that it's not concentrated. The same effect can be said of an actual physical shield: enough damage focused on one area will eventually shatter that defense."

Onmund relaxed his arms and the ward faded away, leaving a pale afterimage in his eyes that he blinked to try and clear. "Is there a way to make the ward stronger? Allow it to withstand a concentrated spell or attack?"

"There are several methods - several types of ward spells for different situations with ways to empower them further, a casting with multiple people pooling their strength will work as well. Can you think of any other way to protect yourself from a harmful spell?"

"Is there..." he paused, thinking. "Is there a way to silence someone from a distance? If they can't cast then they can't harm me."

"There are but that isn't your lesson for the day."

She moved away from him again and back over to stand beside the monolith, turning to face him with her hands outspread; a warding spell appeared around her but it was different than the one he knew: it was a deep purple and swirled like mist around her, and didn't glow much.

"Throw your strongest spell at me, apprentice."

Onmund blinked at her in surprise. She wanted him to _attack_ her? "What? How? I can't- I can't cast anything at you."

"You can if I permit it, and I promise you you aren't capable of harming me. Throw your spell."

A very deep nervousness struck him; the other times he'd tried that he'd "awakened" in the floor with no memory of what she may have done to deter him...but if she allowed it, he could? He certainly hoped she was right as he really didn't want to land on his ass three times in one day; sucking in a breath he threw a quick bolt of lightning in her direction.

The lightning arced toward her and then abruptly angled off to the side to harmlessly scorch the wall -- from where he stood he couldn't actually tell if he'd hit the ward or not, and he'd definitely not been expecting the lightning to deflect like that.

"What - what did you do? I didn't even see you move."

Kestrel smiled faintly. "Again."

After a pause to consider Onmund sent an ice shard at her this time; much like the lightning it too deflected off to the side but at least this time Onmund swore he saw the ward ripple -- he'd hit it, but not...directly? How? He'd fired it right at her, not at any angle.

"How are you doing that?"

She banished the ward with a wave of her hand, sending it scattering like smoke. "Tell me what happened."

"You..." What HAD just happened? It definitely hadn't absorbed the spell. "I think you deflected it, somehow? I know I shot it directly at you but it's like it - like it skimmed the ward instead of striking it."

Kestrel nodded. "Correct. The ward you know is capable of the same thing, sort of. Would you like to try? Can you guess how?"

Again he paused, uncertain - he certainly WANTED to try but based on what had happened the first two times he couldn't fathom how he was supposed to get the ward to do the same as hers had, and based on what she'd been drilling into him these last few weeks he didn't want to assume that her ward was a different spell from his own based on its color and function alone.

As he deliberated in silence she smiled at him and walked back over to stand at his side, her hands clasped behind her back. "What other ways could you save yourself from harmful magic?"

She left him to think in silence but still remained standing beside him; the easiest answer to her second question was 'don't be on the receiving end in the first place,' or at least that felt like the easiest answer to him...but if he was ever in that position he'd still need an answer for it. Finding cover to hide behind seemed logical, but that may not always be an option -- maybe just not be where the magic was, then, or if he couldn't silence his opponent then maybe he could redirect their spells somewhere else.

...sort of like what her ward did.

He looked up to her and found her watching him with an expectant look. "I think the answer is to not be where the spell is going, either by deflecting it like your ward spell did or simply jumping out of the way, or by hiding behind something if I can."

She nodded. "Correct. Now, how would you accomplish that based on the spells you know?"

Once again he went silent, thinking. "I... Would it be possible to...somehow reverse a ward's function? Instead of absorbing it should repel, right?"

"Close enough," she chuckled quietly. "You've done well today - take the rest of the afternoon to practice your spells and see if you can figure out on your own how to alter your ward to do what you believe it should do. We shall test you in the morning and see how close you've come."

With an approving nod Kestrel turned and left; Onmund listened to her retreating footsteps until he heard the soft click of her door opening and closing then huffed out a sigh and stared around the room aimlessly. She'd shown him how to alter the frost and shock spells to change them into water and wind and he felt he had an understanding of how to do that...or did he? Was he just doing that by rote or did he actually understand what it was he was doing?

"I guess I'm about to find out," he grumbled; despite how quietly he'd spoken his words echoed back to him -- he'd not really noticed the echo when he was focusing on Kestrel's lesson or on his own casting and it wasn't even all that loud but 'find out' repeated several times before it faded.

All right then...he had a puzzle to piece together.


	6. Chapter 6

Time passed quickly when all he let himself think about were his lessons; some days Kestrel introduced something new, some days she made him review what he'd already learned. He had reached a point where throwing frost, water, fire, wind, or lightning was second nature, able to do so in the blink of an eye with both hands aimed in front of him or pointed in different directions (and he'd even managed to get the spray radius almost up to that of a two-handed cast - something he was definitely proud of). 

He'd also been introduced to casting earth and rock spells (there really wasn't any better descriptor for those) and, because of that, had learned that one of the locked doors he hadn't been able to explore opened into a very long, gently sloping staircase that led to a large storeroom.

"This sort of magic will strengthen you against physical sorts of damage similar to a ward's defense against magic and allow you to change the landscape around you but, unlike with fire, frost, or lightning, you aren't able to simply create earth or stone out of nothing...I have yet to figure out why," she'd explained. 

Within the storeroom were stacks upon stacks of wooden logs, carefully preserved bolts of cloth, empty bottles and a variety of tools and pieces of things to repair the tools; at the very rear of the room where there had once been logs was where Kestrel set him to practicing these new spells -- he'd called stones from the ground and shaped the soil, and had dug the back of the room out further (and learned that yes, she had not been exaggerating when she'd said that moving earth like this was difficult: the harder he pushed outward the more the soil he was exerting force on and the effort required to keep moving it kept increasing exponentially unless he was careful with how he pushed and adjusted things).

Between the earthen spells and his ever strengthening wards (practice, practice, practice) Onmund was actually confident in his own defense - far more than he'd been at the College, that was for sure. He'd been trapped down here, by his count, for about five and a half months and he was already well advanced beyond what he imagined his peers were at.

Of course...it was difficult to think about them, or about anything else on the surface; nighttime was the worst time to be alone with his thoughts. His supposed immortality aside, it hurt to think that he'd never see anyone he knew again...he'd never love or get married, have a family, he'd never adventure and see what the world had to offer. He was trapped in an elaborate hole in the ground, and would possibly be here until the end of time itself...and at night when his tired mind caught him unaware the realizations cut deeply, and made his eyes burn and his heart ache.

And strangely, it made him wonder how Kestrel had managed to be alone for so long. From the little snippets here and there he gathered that she'd been alone for nearly fifty years or so before he'd fallen down here, and that while she'd had quite the number of apprentices they had been spread out over long periods of time interspersed with even longer periods of total isolation. How had she not gone mad? How had she wrestled with the feelings of loneliness, of regret and longing? She still refused to tell him her exact age and he knew she had to be ancient...perhaps it was a question of time needed -- time needed to mourn and miss things, and time to heal and move on.

He still hadn't asked her what had happened to the man before him; she didn't talk about him aside from the odd comment here or there, explaining how whatever she was teaching him was something she'd discovered alongside that previous apprentice, and she'd let slip no hints whatsoever about who he'd even been or how long he'd dwelled with her.

It was a mystery he woke up one morning deciding he needed an answer for: if the previous apprentice had been gifted immortality then where was he? Surely, after all her warnings and sympathy about Onmund being unable to ever leave, she hadn't actually LET the other man leave.

"...may I ask you something, before we begin today?"

"Of course."

He hesitated a moment, slowing to a stop about halfway to the Hall of Mirrors; Kestrel took a few steps more to notice he'd paused before she stopped and turned around.

"The spell you have on me... If you created that with your last apprentice, and it also gave him immortality...why were you alone when I fell down here? What happened to him?"

She smiled faintly and shook her head. "I was wondering when you'd work up the nerve to ask about those that came before you. Follow me, I will show you something."

She turned around and started back down the hallway but instead of the Hall she went to her own room; Onmund followed and once he was inside saw that her room was nigh identical to his in layout save for a flat table-like structure covered with a cloth in the center of the room, a coffin of white wood that stood next to a wardrobe, and a polished, pale brown wooden coffin on a wide, tall stone slab where a bed should have been. With a very intricate, complex wave of her hand and an uttered word the stone slab ponderously moved aside to reveal a hole carved into its middle -- Kestrel walked over and stepped down onto the first rung of the stone ladder within the hole and, when Onmund followed her a moment later, he found the ladder went down for quite a ways (and it was tight, claustrophobic even - barely wide enough to fit his shoulders).

Eventually his boots landed on a chilly stone floor, with the only light being that pitiful amount that managed to make it from the hole at the top of the ladder down to this level; he suspected they were even deeper down than the storeroom had been and this room was absolutely frigid and their steps echoed in the space.

Kestrel conjured a series of very tiny magelight orbs - each about the size of her thumb, and sent them into the room in a flurry of light where they twinkled like fireflies; as the room steadily filled with their golden glow Onmund's eyes widened at what they revealed:

Coffins. Heavy iron sarcophagi lined the walls to either side of what was essentially a stone vault - he could count twenty seven that had their lids on, and five more that stood open with their lids set perpendicular across their tops. Each one shimmered in the magelight, their tops and sides polished to a sheen and with what he assumed were names carved near the heads.

"Here before you you see the apprentices of the past -- and before you ask, all save for one of them died of old age," Kestrel said softly. "And, not all of them died down here... I have moved from den to den over the years but did not want to leave them behind, buried and forgotten."

Onmund took a few careful steps into the room before looking back to her; Kestrel nodded to him - she apparently didn't mind if he took a closer look.

Jyrmi, Brellin, Evulme, Balur, Agati... Each closed coffin that held a body bore a name and not a single speck of dust, and all of the coffins were finely crafted. He walked halfway through the room, pausing where the magelights had stopped at the border between dim light and darkness; the room continued on but Kestrel had purposely not sent the magelights back far enough to fully light it. The coffins to either side of him were empty...were there just more empty ones back there?

(And exactly how far ahead did she plan? It was a chilling thought that one of these had almost had HIS name on it).

"I - I guess I understand why most of these would be here," he said slowly, looking back at her from over a shoulder. "But I don't understand why you'd show me this - if he was immortal he should still be alive. Why did he die? Is he even down here? Are one of these his?"

Kestrel conjured a much larger orb this time and sent it rocketing to the far end of the room - Onmund shielded his eyes as it raced by him - and there it stopped against the back wall, revealing a single pathetic, lonely wooden coffin shoved into a corner.

The wood looked old and dry rotted, it had no name; it was coated in dust and dirt and looked neglected. He gave Kestrel an uneasy look and she slowly strolled toward him between the line of coffins.

"I am not so isolated here as I've made you believe," she started. "I can choose to observe the surface world. It's possible to come and go from here if you know how to navigate the web of protections that surround this place. Many of my apprentices I observed for years, watching them grow and gauging their ambitions, until I offered them a chance to learn from me and plucked them from the life they had. He was one of those...a very ambitious, curious man. Oftentimes he was shunned for radical ideas and his penchant for asking questions, challenging 'common' knowledge. He leapt at the chance to learn under my tutelage - I was offering him exactly what he desired, and he was the perfect companion in all aspects...TOO perfect. I foolishly loved the man - it was difficult not to. That was why I couldn't bear the thought of outliving him, but I couldn't bring myself to turn him either."

Onmund looked back to the wooden coffin again - it definitely didn't look like it belonged to someone that was loved. "What happened?"

"We began to craft our spell... And when it seemed we had succeeded we were both especially cautious not to be too hopeful but also incredibly drunk on the rush of our triumph. For twenty years we carefully monitored him - his appearance, his mental and physical health and needs. Nothing changed. We declared it a victory. And when he was convinced he had immortality with no adverse side effects he went to rid himself of me - the romance had been a ruse."

She said it all matter-of-factly, with hardly any emotion, but Onmund himself was incredibly disturbed and confused. "I...but... But he needed you for the immortality...why would he try to kill you? HOW did he try to kill you? I can't so much as sneeze in your direction without going unconscious."

She laughed softly and rested a hand on his shoulder. "At the time we didn't realize it was _shared_ characteristics...our intentions hadn't been to share, but to gift. And once he thought he had his gift he no longer needed me, just the vast amount of knowledge that he coveted and the freedom to move forward on his own, the-" Kestrel abruptly stopped, biting her lower lip. "-the _thing_ be damned," she finished after a pause.

"Thing...?"

"The thing we guard. That he and I once both guarded out of fear for what it could possibly do," she elaborated. "For all I know he decided he could control that too, and needed me gone so he could take possession of it. I don't know and I don't care, and it's too late to ask him now. To save myself I was forced to kill him, and once he was dead I felt everything I'd gained from him fade...to say nothing of how it feels to have your heart so cruelly broken."

A silence fell between them; Onmund couldn't help but stare at the coffin - his predecessor, right there in front of him, and by all accounts a traitor, a liar, and a would-be murderer.

"So he tried to attack you, failed, and you killed him. Like you almost killed me?"

Kestrel shook her head. "No no, when the spell was between myself and him it wasn't able to kill, and did not prevent him from harming me...it wasn't until after that - much, much later - that I figured out how to add that in. I am not taking that chance again." She turned on a heel and began to walk back to the ladder; the large magelight orb over the coffin in the corner extinguished and, as she walked by them, the other tinier ones began to as well.

Onmund hurried to follow her so he wouldn't be left alone in the dark, and it was a very long climb back up into her room; his arms and legs were burning by the time he hauled himself out of the opening and rolled off the stone slab onto his knees, sitting there in the floor and waiting for the slab to slide back into place before he used it to push himself back to his feet.

She was already moving toward the cloth-covered table and with a flourish yanked the cloth free; the table was a sheet of mirrored glass marked with runes and etched with constellation drawings. At her gesture he came over to look at it -- it was amazing craftsmanship and he'd not seen anything like it before, and he wondered what its purpose was but assumed she'd be telling him if she was showing it to him now.

"This..." she said quietly, running her fingers lightly over its smooth surface, "is a scrying table. A means to look at things from far distances - assuming what you're looking at isn't warded to block your sight."

"Scrying... I've heard of that, actually," Onmund murmured. He too reached out a hand to rest his fingers against the silvered glass; it was cold to the touch and he could feel a sort of latent power within it - something that would awaken with the right application of...something. "I didn't realize you needed something like this to do it though."

"You don't," Kestrel laughed. "You can use a simple map and a pure crystal - I prefer quartz - but it's considerably more difficult, and I dislike doing things the hard way for no reason."

"How does it work?"

"It's a combination of invested magicka from the caster, a high degree of mental focus, and knowledge of your subject or target," she explained. "Having something belonging to someone you're wanting to scry helps but it's not required."

Onmund leaned forward, admiring the etchings and designs within the mirrored surface. "Will I learn how to use this?"

"Of course...though, don't get your hopes up, it will be awhile. It takes a lot of mental training that we've not gotten to yet."

The thought of being able to scry his family, his friends...to be able to see them again, even if it was just through a mirror, was a very tempting, attractive thought. "I definitely want to learn."

With a soft chuckle she placed hands on his shoulders and turned to guide him out of her bedroom. "In time. To build a house you have to have a sturdy foundation - likewise, to climb to new heights with magical skill you must first have a solid foundation of knowledge."

"Yes, yes, I get that," he said with a small laugh. He took a few quick steps to get out in front of her, shrugging off her hands. "What are you showing me today, then?"

"I think today is a fine day to review," came her answer as she stepped ahead of him and led the way to the Hall of Mirrors.

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Onmund had gotten into the habit of keeping a bound book of blank parchment sitting on his desk - something he thought he could have used as a journal, to leave some record of his discontent and attempts to find freedom again - and yet he hadn't done that at all. Every morning he instead placed another tally mark in a row to keep track of how long he'd been here; by his count he'd been here eight months and six days exactly, which hardly seemed like any time at all. 

There were mornings where he woke before Kestrel came for him and he would sit at his desk and read sometimes but far more often he would retreat into daydreams -- he wondered how long the others had looked for him before giving up, how long they'd waited to let his family know he'd "died," or IF they'd even told his family yet...he knew his family would demand a body to be buried which the College obviously couldn't give them. How angry would his parents be at them? Or at HIM for refusing their wishes to be a hunter or farmer and becoming a mage, and (no doubt in their eyes) dying because of his idiotic choice?

There was a part of him that thought he should hate Kestrel for all this...but he didn't. And he also thought that he should still be trying to escape despite the spell that could kill him with a thought...and yet, he didn't want to do that either (and not just because he'd die). He hadn't even given it a thought in...a month, maybe more. The things he was learning here he felt he couldn't learn anywhere else and...well.

Kestrel was a good teacher - a good master mage. He had a lot of learning to do before he'd be advanced enough to help her research or anything like that but she never held that against him. She was firm but kind, never talked down to him, patiently helped when he asked, kept his curiosity and eagerness alive and strong with each new thing, and carried herself with a confidence no doubt born out of untold years of experience - that she seemed _terrified_ of whatever it was that they guarded down here...he wondered if it was better if he never found out. But he knew he would, eventually -- Kestrel's lessons this week had been of mental strength: sharpening his focus, withstanding mental assaults, broadening his ability to multitask (multicast?) rapidly by demanding he juggle several spells or problems all at one time. He'd thought at first that this would be the precursor to learning how to use the scrying table - and maybe it was part of that - but the last few days she'd really doubled down on increasing his mental defenses.

She was preparing to tell him about the _thing_ that was down here with them. She had to be.

Another week went by, and then another. Her lessons didn't change from the mental exercises, nor did she allow him time to practice anything other than that; it was starting to become a bit nerve wracking waking up each morning wondering if today would be that day.

And yet when that morning finally came he found himself oddly calm -- he'd been anticipating this for weeks so maybe it wasn't too strange... Well, he supposed that he hadn't really been afraid of the Eye of Magnus at first either as he had no idea what it was at the time (and look at what'd happened with THAT).

With little fanfare (and hardly speaking) Kestrel led the way back to her room and moved her coffin and the stone slab aside again; they climbed in silence down the stone ladder to the chilled mausoleum and then walked by the dim light of a single magelight orb to the far end of the room where the wooden coffin of the last apprentice sat. Kestrel veered toward the corner opposite of that coffin and seemed to simply disappear into thin air, though the air itself appeared to ripple like a pond's surface. Onmund paused, uncertain of what he'd just seen, then Kestrel's disembodied hand stuck out of the midst of the air ripples and gestured for him to come closer.

He did and felt the hair on his arms stand on end as he passed through some sort of magical field; looking back out into the room was almost nauseating as _everything_ visually rippled, like he was at the bottom of a deep pool looking upward. There was a semi circle of runes carved into the floor and up the walls that were only visible if he was standing within it and Onmund swore his teeth were vibrating from all the power concentrated in this one tiny area; it was a very bizarre feeling overall but it did look as though they simply stood together in a rune circle as the walls and floor still remained - or appeared - solid.

Kestrel then began reaching out to runes etched into the walls, touching them rapidly and in a sequence Onmund had no hope of following; he heard a deep thrum, and felt it in his bones too, and then a sliver of the wall disappeared -- it was a sliver just barely wide enough to let Kestrel slide through turned sideways, and it was a considerably tighter fit for his larger frame. By the time he'd squeezed through he was panting and shaking a bit from the sudden onset of immense claustrophobia and jumped a bit at Kestrel's cold hand on his arm.

The light that came through the gap in the wall seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness in this room; there was a sharp border at the edge of it's light - very sharp, like something solid stood there but Onmund couldn't see anything...but he could _feel_ something. Something that scratched at his mind, a mental tickle, a hissing that rose and fell with the cadence of someone speaking...something in this room wanted his attention. A sense of unease filled him and he clamped down with the mental protection spells Kestrel had been drilling into him for three weeks; the scratching and whispering became quieter, but didn't go away completely.

Kestrel's fingers dug into his sleeve - she hadn't let go of him since they'd stepped into his room. At her quiet word a magelight orb appeared above their heads and its light too cut off abruptly about ten feet from them as though a wall was casting a shadow there, but all Onmund could see was a deep darkness.

"I am only going to show you a glimpse," she said quietly. "I don't dare risk anything longer than that. Are you prepared?"

"I...I think so."

Kestrel kept her hand on his arm but tugged and pushed him ahead of her, positioning him so he directly faced the darkness; only then did her hand move from his arm to his waist and her other came up to rest at his belt as well.

Then the darkness dropped, and the whispers and scratching hit him with renewed strength.

It wasn't language as he recognized it - it wasn't words. It was...emotion, and images. He didn't even fully grasp what he was looking at as he wrestled to keep the wordless whispers at bay -- he saw a brief glimpse of something black and shining like obsidian, spiky and about the size of a book, and as his gaze fell on it he felt a compulsion to pick it up and put it on.

Whatever it was wanted him to wear it - it was a powerful artifact and Kestrel had no right to keep it from its rightful wielder. He saw himself as Arch-Mage in a spiked crown, guiding young minds without fear of persecution or concern about what the damned Nords thought of his College. All he needed to do was cross the room, pick it up, put it on, and he'd be free of his damned slave master as well.

And between Kestrel's firm grip on his hips and his own struggle to stay put he managed to cut through the scratching and non-noise, through the compulsion; he grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut - NOT looking at it shut him off from the desire to grab the...the whatever that was, though it did little to silence the noise in his mind.

And then it went silent - or as silent as it had been when they'd first entered; his heart was beating rapidly and he felt a little lightheaded, and put a hand to Kestrel's on his hip and took comfort that yes, she was still there. When he finally worked up the courage to open his eyes he found the strange wall of darkness was back in place. Everything had returned to normal.

He shrugged Kestrel's hands off and, on unsteady legs, squeezed himself back through the gap in the wall and into the mausoleum, falling against one of the nearby empty iron coffins and trying to get his heart rate and ragged breathing back under control. He was only faintly aware of Kestrel coming out through the gap behind him and replacing all the warding spells; his heartbeat was impossibly loud in the quiet, and he didn't argue when she gently slipped one of his arms over her shoulder and in turn slid one of her arms around his waist and half guided, half carried him back to the far side of the room to lean him against the wall beside the base of the ladder.

It felt like an age had passed before he composed himself, and when he looked up to Kestrel she wore an expression devoid of any emotion.

"What... What did I just look at?" he whispered.

Kestrel slowly lowered herself down to squat on her heels in front of him, looking him in the eyes. "I call it the Crown of Domination... I know very little about it. It bears the power and mark of Molag Bal, and I suspect it might have even originated in Coldharbour. Even before I lowered a few protections to let you see it you still felt its influence, yes?"

He nodded weakly. "I - I did, yes. I felt something trying to claw its way in, and there were whispers that weren't actually words, but I understood what it wanted me to do. I don't even know what I really saw - just...spikes, and a black shine."

"It compels whoever looks at it to put it on...I'm not nearly brave enough to try and figure out what is meant to happen if it's worn," she said softly. "Are you all right?"

"You keep that thing down here...so close to where you sleep?"

She nodded. "I found it hundreds of years ago, entirely by accident. I was unprepared for it, and my apprentice at the time..." She shifted, turning to place a knee on the floor to balance herself as she looked back to the lines of coffins. "That's her - third from the left. There was once a time where I used my illusions to live freely among mortals...she was my only apprentice but we had partnered with several scholars from the capital to unearth what we'd been led to believe was a Black Book. It most definitely wasn't - we all fell under some sort of...ensnaring mental magic. One of the scholars closest to the crown put it on, and before I managed to break free of the spell he had already slaughtered my apprentice and all but two other men. When I struck him down the other two fought to claim it themselves and killed one another."

"That's awful..." His hands were shaking and he clenched them in his lap, blowing out a breath. "And you don't know what its supposed to do?"

"No, I do not. Did you see visions? Promises of power?"

He nodded. "I saw myself as Arch-Mage, teaching others...unafraid of the Nords and their stupid attitudes toward magic. And free of you and your spell," he added after a pause, glancing up to her uneasily.

She turned around, looking thoughtful; carefully she folded her legs under her to sit on the freezing floor. "It may very well be it just shows you what you desire, or what it thinks you desire. I can't be certain because what it initially showed me was nothing I had ever wanted once in my entire, considerable life."

"I've never thought of ever rising to the rank of Arch-Mage. I just wanted to learn," Onmund murmured. He again glanced to her and then quickly looked away -- he didn't want to be Arch-Mage, and he'd thought that he didn't want to leave either...he thought he'd come to terms with that. But if the crown showed him something it _thought_ he wanted - if it was going to show him whatever it needed to to make him put it on...

With a huff he forced himself to look back at her - he would try to understand his own thoughts on that half of it later. "If that thing is so dangerous, why risk anyone else? If your last apprentice actually did want that crown for himself -- I mean, is the spell on me enough to protect or deter me from that? What if it DOES get to me somehow?"

She smiled kindly at him. "It won't. My wards and simple distance between you and it has worked for far, right?" At her question he nodded. "You have nothing to worry about. And as for why I would risk other apprentices...it was always my hope that we would find a way to safely destroy it - or, well. A way TO destroy it, period. Maybe you will be the one to help me with that goal...I certainly hope so."

Onmund was silent a moment, letting that sink in; he might technically be a captive but if they found a way to destroy the crown then he'd be a hero, and there'd be no reason to stay hidden away down here. "-if we destroy it, we could leave, right?" Kestrel tilted her head, looking at him curiously; that she hadn't immediately said no encouraged him. "I mean, if we don't have to guard that thing anymore, we could just go back to the surface. You said you used to hide among mortals - there'd be no reason to stay hidden down here anymore, right? And there'd be no reason to forcibly keep me with you either since there's no secret left to keep. Not that I'd leave," he added hurriedly. "You've taught me a great deal and I want to learn more. But...if the crown is gone...?"

With another kind smile she leaned forward to pat his shoulder, then stood and moved to the ladder. "It's fine to dream of the world from time to time, but don't let it distract you from what we must do."

"I understand. I understand a lot better now."

"Good. Go and rest...we'll begin again tomorrow."


	7. Chapter 7

Having seen the crown for himself gave him a clear understanding of why Kestrel's offer to him had been so black and white, and he found that any remaining anger or misgivings he had about her had been swept away by an underlying fear of what was buried under his feet. And now he understood too that until they figured out how to deal with the crown that it WAS in fact too dangerous to leave - they were dealing with a Daedric Prince...if someone wanted that information it wasn't going to matter if Onmund wanted to tell anyone or not because there were an alarming number of ways it could be forced out of him.

He couldn't help but notice that in the following days Kestrel seemed worried...somewhat distracted as she took him through his lessons; it could only be because of the crown, but was she worried about him trying to do as her last apprentice had? Surely not...she'd seen how it had effected him and he had zero desire to even go near the damned thing.

But did she suddenly suspect him? Had that lessened her trust in him?

That morning when he placed his tally mark (eleven months, twelve days - had it really been so long?) and waited for Kestrel to knock he couldn't stop dwelling on it...worrying that she'd now see him as untrustworthy, or a liability. When the knock came and he opened his door he just barely caught the worried look disappear under a mask of pleasant politeness; he sighed heavily and she raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

"What is it, apprentice?"

"You've not been acting like yourself ever since you showed me that crown. Why?"

She blinked at him, looking surprised. "Oh?"

"You've been distracted, I see how you look when you think I'm not looking at you. I saw it just now. Something's wrong, isn't it? Or do you not trust me anymore?"

Kestrel rubbed her hands together idly, scratching her own knuckles; it was a fidgety movement and seemed out of place on her - she'd always seemed so confident and prim. For a time she didn't reply and chewed on her lower lip, then huffed a small sigh through her nose. "You are not as attuned to the magical flows of this place as I am - not yet. You cannot sense the defenses, or notice if something is awry."

A pit of ice formed in his stomach. "What do you mean? Has someone found us?"

"Yes, and no. Do you remember me saying there should have been no way for you to fall down here?"

"Well, yes."

"To me that meant that I had been found, without my knowing. Someone or something was trying to get down here and had opened the way...a way I'd thought sealed, and that I thought I would notice if it suddenly wasn't."

"So...someone knows we, and the crown, are down here?"

She nodded, looking grim. "That's what I suspect. I've felt someone testing my wards - not the ones around the crown," she added quickly. "The protective measures laid around this little compound. No one should know I'm here. There were NO natural caverns below Saarthal - what ones that existed in this particular part of the mountain were dug out and that is what Saarthal was built within...and yet so slowly that I never detected it someone managed to open enough of a way here for you to slip down."

The pit of ice turned into a sharp spike of fear as he looked at her. "Master, I promise - I wasn't sent down here by anyone, I-"

"No, no, I believe you," she interrupted. "Your coming here was by accident. It is a benefit to us both that I do not need sleep as I've been awake and aware each time something taps against my defenses...but I haven't been quick enough to catch the damned skeever that's poking around."

Onmund swallowed hard as a terrible thought came to him. "...this didn't start until you showed me the crown, did it?"

"Correct. Or, well...the testing of the wards began then - I obviously never noticed someone burrowing in my direction. The poking is... It's very subtle but I am always especially wary after showing someone the crown."

"So, it's possible someone sensed it in the instant you dropped your defenses to show me?"

"Yes and no. I WAS hiding beneath the Eye's magical presence and that's now gone...ordinarily I'd say the odds are nigh impossible that someone would be looking this way at the perfect time but we're dealing with a Daedric Prince and I've no doubt he wants his artifact found and put to use, whatever its actual use IS. My own power is leaps and bounds ahead of any mortal but I'm a single speck of sand on a shoreline against Molag Bal's tidal wave."

"...what do we do, then?" he asked carefully. The thought that Molag Bal was scheming to open the way down here for someone to take that crown...it was deeply terrifying, especially considering that the way was already open ENOUGH if he was able to fall down here.

Still rubbing fingers across her knuckles Kestrel began to pace. "-I am hopeful that the fact he hasn't directly intervened to retrieve the crown means that he is somehow unable to, as we'd both be easily crushed under his power...but his agents are certainly looking for a way in. It seems a shift in your education is now required -- what do you know of battle?"

\-------------------------------------------

Thirteen months, five days. Day after day of combat instruction and practice, ward strengthening, mental exercises, and tense evenings where Onmund's imagination liked to picture horrible, nightmarish things crawling about on his ceiling just out of his view. There were some days that the fear made him angry more than anything - no sane person welcomed fear even if it was a handy survival instinct, and Onmund found he hated this...this formless, unknown fear more than anything else. It would be different, he felt, if he knew exactly what was coming for him (for THEM) but not knowing left a gnawing anxiety at the edges of his focus.

Kestrel didn't speak much about further attempts to find gaps in her defenses; he knew it was still happening as she was still on edge, no matter how much she tried to hide it from him. She tried to keep them on as normal a schedule as possible but there were scattered mornings where she was late coming to get him and he would meet her hurrying down the hall.

This was another one of those mornings; Onmund was already at the door to the Hall of Mirrors when she emerged from her room, and she followed him inside without a word.

These combat lessons - old battlemage techniques, she'd called them - had him utterly sick of this room; there were scorch marks, shattered places, melted places, uneven spots in the floor...so many signs of the rigorous training she was putting him through, day after day. In their earliest lessons if he'd damaged anything in the room she'd fixed it without hesitation...she hadn't bothered with that in nearly two weeks.

"Good morning," was all he said as he walked out into the middle of the room, ducking between two monoliths.

He heard a mumbled greeting in return as he took his place and turned to her, ready to start the day with a spar as usual; Kestrel's image across the room was blurred - sort of like looking through a fogged glass. At first he wondered if this was some new defensive technique that would be the center of today's lesson but...no - the whole room was sort of blurry. 

Glancing down to his hands he found he was blurry even to himself -- his outline was a swirling fog, a thin smoke rising from his skin and, as he watched, it was spreading out to coat his entire body.

"-what is this?" he asked - his voice echoed in his own head and an instant later he staggered at the sensation of something impaling through his chest...nothing was there that he could see but there was a distinct feeling of something lodged there.

And it was pulling.

His body was turning transparent as the hook-like sensation around his sternum intensified, and Onmund felt more than saw his feet leave the floor before his vision went dark; there was a rushing, roaring noise in his ears and the pressure in his chest became unbearable as he was ripped upward in total darkness.

It was over quickly; a blinding light filled his eyes as he struck stone hard enough that he bounced and rolled, all of the air blasted out of him and struggling to breathe. Through the roaring in his ears he heard a faint "Onmund? He- he's alive?!" and then there was nothing as the light went away, and so did he.

\--------------------------------------

Beneath him was a straw mattress - it was poking him in several places - and over him was a light coverlet, and somewhere beyond the darkness of his closed eyelids he could hear voices talking.

"Are you certain?" That voice was definitely Tolfdir's.

A woman's voice - soft and sympathetic, and unfamiliar - answered him. "Unfortunately I am, Master Mage. He bears a mark - it's a common type of spell among those who keep slaves. Given time I could free him of it."

"To think he's been someone's prisoner all this time...poor boy."

"Let's give him time to rest and come around, and see what he has to say for himself. It might help determine just how ensnared he is."

How ensnared...? His mind was very groggily processing what he'd heard but from what he understood...whoever that woman was who was speaking could tell he had a spell on him. Kestrel's spell? It could only be that. How had she sensed it though? Onmund had yet to reach a point where he could sense it and it was ON him - maybe that was purposeful...obviously Kestrel wouldn't want him figuring out how to remove it on his own.

But whoever that woman was COULD sense it, and she meant to remove it.

No, no no no... He couldn't let her do that - it was highly likely Kestrel could kill him with the spell at any distance and if she felt someone tampering with it...well, it would only make sense for her to kill him to keep the crown's secret safe. He certainly wouldn't blame her but he definitely would rather remain alive.

Though at the moment he had to admit that death seemed rather attractive -- his head both spun and throbbed at every little movement, he swore he could feel his own pulse in his eyeballs, there was a very deep ache in his chest where the pulling sensation had been, and all over his skin felt...tight, or burnt; he didn't think it was possible to feel worse than he had after Kestrel had tried to kill him, but well...here he was. However they'd managed to rip him out of Kestrel's care had really done a number on him and if he stopped existing for a little while he didn't think that would be such a bad thing.

He eventually drifted asleep and woke up later feeling only slightly better; the burning, tight feeling across his body had faded and the pain in his chest lessened, though the throbbing in his head was still just as terrible as it'd been earlier. Very carefully he opened his eyes and, without moving his head, looked around as much as he could at a room he hadn't seen in over a year.

Everything he could see seemed to be exactly where he'd left it; very slowly, very carefully, he rolled to his side and leveraged himself up on an elbow, making a few feeble attempts to free his feet from the covers. They'd only removed his boots but the sleeves to his shirt were rolled up - he definitely didn't remember doing that himself, and knowing that the runes of Kestrel's spell were visible across his chest and down his arms he had a feeling he knew why his sleeves were rolled.

The more he (carefully) moved the easier it became and finally he sat up on the edge of the bed with his bare toes just barely brushing against the cold stone floor; it was so strange to be back in this room again - bittersweet and a touch ironic, he thought. He could still remember a time where he'd wanted, more than anything, to come back here...and now that he was, all he wanted now was to return to where he'd been.

How was he going to explain himself? What could he safely tell them? Would they leave him alone if he asked, or believe his explanation that it would kill him if they tried to take Kestrel's spell off him?

Movement at the door caught his attention; looking up Onmund found Tolfdir, Faralda, and another Altmer woman he'd never seen before peering in at him.

The woman was tall - much taller than Faralda next to her - and had shining black hair that hung freely to her shoulders; she wore a forest green, knee-length leather vest over cream colored robes, tied with a brown sash hemmed with gold thread. Her face was softer, rounder - not as angular as Faralda's and definitely not like Kestrel's - and bright amber eyes were looking at him in a mixture of curiosity and something like pity.

Toldfir wore a similar expression though his was tinged with excitement and relief - in a way it was sort of...heartwarming, Onmund supposed, that the elder looked genuinely pleased to see him. "Onmund, my boy...words cannot express how glad we all are to find you alive, after so much time."

"How are you feeling?" the Altmer (that wasn't Faralda) asked, wringing her hands. "I'm relieved I didn't accidentally kill you...that spell isn't meant for living creatures," she added under her breath.

"I've felt better," Onmund replied, gaze moving between the three. "How did you bring me back here? Why?"

"Well," Tolfdir started, sighing. "Your parents were adamant we return your remains, and - with the assistance of our guest here - we aimed to do just that." 

Tolfdir nodded to the tall Altmer who then politely bowed toward Onmund. "Indeed... I wasn't expecting to be seeking a living man, only calling a lifeless object to myself. If I'd even suspected you were alive there were many different precautions I would have taken, and you wouldn't be feeling as poorly as you do now."

He shrugged and stood, swaying a bit but finding his balance fairly quickly; his head pounded at the change in posture but he grit his teeth and carefully padded barefoot over toward the door, only to walk into something both solid and invisible right before he reached the doorway. "-ow, what-"

The tall Altmer woman rubbed a hand against her neck, looking guilty as she hurried to step back behind Tolfdir. Onmund reached out a hand and again hit something solid but unseen - he knocked his knuckles against it experimentally and could just barely see a tiny ripple spreading from where he struck...whatever it was in front of him. "What is this? Why have you trapped me in my room?"

"That's, ah..." Tolfdir started, blowing out a long, slow sigh. "That's a precaution, is all."

"For what? You can't honestly think I'd hurt anyone." Onmund honestly wasn't certain if it was more worrying or insulting.

Tolfdir glanced to Faralda and then the nameless Altmer before looking back to him. "It would seem you have some kind of magical mark upon you - a sign that you have been claimed by something or another. We're not entirely sure about its true function just yet, but in the name of caution we would rather you remain contained for now."

Onmund frowned, fighting to keep his expression and voice even. "I won't hurt anyone and I'm not under anyone's control. I know what spell you mean, and uh-" he looked up at the black-haired Altmer woman -- he was fairly certain it had been her voice he'd heard before, talking about wanting to remove the spell on him. "-trust me, the spell is the only reason I'm alive. I will absolutely die if you take it off me."

The woman pressed her lips into a thin line, giving Tolfdir a knowing look; Toldfir nodded to her and looked back to Onmund. "I'm afraid we aren't inclined to take your word for it."

He felt a little chill go down his spine. "Wait, you mean you'd actually risk killing me outright?"

"I've seen these sorts of spells before, young man-"

"No, you haven't," Onmund interrupted the Altmer woman before he could stop himself. It was the bare truth - she couldn't have possibly seen a spell Kestrel created in isolation - but he knew he couldn't explain it further than that...not without telling them far more than he knew he or Kestrel would want them to know. "And I know you haven't because this spell is unique."

Again the woman gave him a pitying look before resting a hand on Tolfdir's shoulder. "I think this only confirms my suspicions, Master Mage. When he is recovered we can start our attempts."

"No, please - you have to believe me," Onmund insisted. He pressed his hands against the invisible wall that kept him barricaded in his room. "Please, if you remove it I'm going to die. How do you think I survived the fall?"

"You tell us," Faralda replied flatly. "You didn't have such a spell on you prior to your fall, and you would have needed to survive in the first place for anyone ELSE to have placed it on you. Speaking of, WHO placed it on you?"

Onmund paused, gnawing on his lower lip. "...there's another mage trapped down there," he said slowly. It wasn't technically a lie, and it didn't give them more than they needed to know. "She found me, and placed the spell on me to save my life. I am going to die if you remove it."

Again the Altmer woman gave Tolfdir a knowing look, then sighed and walked away muttering under her breath. Tolfdir echoed the sigh and gave Onmund a strained smile.

"We will do what we can, Onmund. I just hope you can understand our need for caution. Get yourself back into bed and rest up - we'll have a meal sent up soon, and then we can all talk when you're feeling better."

With a quiet growl Onmund banged the heel of his palm against the invisible barrier. "Tolfdir, please - you have to believe me. I really, really do not want to die. You can set me free, I'm not under anyone's control and I'm not going to hurt anyone, but please, just leave the spell alone."

Tolfdir nodded idly and turned to leave without another word; Faralda's look was one of mistrust and unease, but there was an underlying concern there as well.

"Do you feel injured?" she asked.

"I... I feel like someone tried ripping my ribcage out in one piece, then threw me into a too-hot bath."

Faralda frowned, rubbing at her chin. "I'm sorry... I'll fetch a few things to help with the pain. I can't cast through the barrier on your room so we'll have to make do with potions and teas for now."

"Please tell me YOU believe me? Or at least don't want to kill me? Hey - wait! Faralda!" He smashed his face up against the barrier, struggling to keep Faralda in view as she walked away, ignoring his shouted questions.

"Oh so happy to see me one moment, eager to murder me the next," he muttered into the silence that followed.

The longer he stood the more his head throbbed, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded and dizzy. He padded back over to his bed and climbed into it; it was like sleeping on stone compared to his bed back-

...back home. That's really what that place had become: _home_. He lived there, studied and learned there, and had a purpose there too...moreso than he'd had when he'd been here at the College, and now he was endangering all of that.

He didn't for a moment think Tolfdir or the others would stoop to...to torture, or anything like that, to drag the truth out of him about where he'd been the past year -- but who was the black-haired Altmer woman? She seemed like someone important; with a sinking feeling he suddenly wondered if she was the new Arch-Mage...no, that was stupid. She hadn't been here before he'd fallen down to Kestrel, and there's no way a stranger would have climbed the ranks in such a short period of time. And yet...with how she and Tolfdir had interacted she was clearly more than another apprentice or initiate, and she didn't dress like a Thalmor either.

Who was she? What was her purpose?

And...how strong was she? Would he have a chance to escape while she was trying to pry Kestrel's spell off him?


	8. Chapter 8

Brelyna wasn't supposed to be here, she'd said as much - that Tolfdir had moved her and J'zargo into the other hall, to isolate Onmund here "just in case."

But, she was here anyway. And he was grateful.

After some tea, a few disgusting potions, and more sleep he'd felt more human and had tried to examine the spell that blocked him in -- he knew now that it wasn't just a curtain-shaped barrier but an entire sphere that was roughly the size of his room. If he moved to the corners he couldn't actually touch the wall and the sphere seemed to absorb the magicka in anything near it (even harmless spells like a magelight) and used that extra power to strengthen itself so he knew there'd be no brute-forcing his way to freedom if he got desperate, but he also had no idea how to dispell it himself.

So he'd sat down in the floor in a huff, his back against the wall (or maybe it was technically the magical barrier) beside the "open" doorway, and then Brelyna had come creeping up the stairs to talk to him.

At first she'd seemed mad at him - mad that he'd been alive all this time and hadn't made an attempt to let them know. That anger had faded some when he'd explained he'd had no means of contacting them, but she'd gone quiet after that; Onmund was content to wait and see what she said next...if she was willing to defy the order to leave him alone then he assumed there was more than a need to vent her anger at him that had brought her up to his little prison. He had a faint hope that maybe she'd come to help him, or that he could convince her to help him...maybe. It was a very, very faint hope, as he imagined the price to pay for that help may be more information than he could safely share.

So...he sat, and he waited.

"...what happened, then?" she asked finally - Onmund had admittedly been dozing off despite his efforts not to, and her voice pulled him back awake. "We know you fell, but - what happened? How did you survive for so long down there?"

What to say... "I...listen," he sighed. "There's a lot I want to tell you and the others, and a lot that I can't share because I don't remember it, or -- or, it's not safe. And I know Tolfdir must have told you that I have some kind of magical slave mark or something on me...it's not true. That's not what the spell is."

"Then what is it? Varea seems pretty convinced."

"Varea?" he repeated. "Is that that other Altmer lady?" He shifted on the stone to sit cross-legged in the floor, directly in front of the doorway; Brelyna nodded at him and glanced toward the entryway to the stairs for a moment.

"-yes, that's her. She's surprisingly helpful."

"Why's she even here? Who is she?"

"She's -- well, she arrived a few months after you disappeared. We were still working in Saarthal, and she came to help us in exchange for the freedom to search for something."

Onmund paused, clenching his fists against the fabric of his pants. "So a stranger shows up looking for something and she's just allowed to hang around?"

"Well," Brelyna replied, drawing out the word and giving it a few more syllables. "She's actually part of the Thalmor - but she's here on personal business," she added. "She seems to think that thieves hid themselves away in Saarthal several generations ago, possibly with a family heirloom of hers with them...so, in return to being able to actually search for and keep the torc that was supposedly stolen and lost down there, she's been helping us with our cataloging and research. And, we do keep finding traces of other people down there when we um...dig out cave ins...so, it's possible."

"How do you know you can trust her? I can't believe a Thalmor would be here just for a missing family heirloom, and look at what Ancano did..."

Brelyna nodded, wrinkling her nose at the memory. "She knows what he did and apologized on behalf of the Thalmor...maybe she was sent here just to repair their reputation, I don't know. Still, Tolfdir is willing to let her stay so long as she doesn't try acting like she owns the place. And surprisingly she hasn't...she's been rather nice and polite, and after your parents demanded your remains she offered to try and find them. And, ah...here you are."

"Uh huh...she's not as nice as you think she is," he muttered. He leaned toward her (being careful not to accidentally slam his head into the barrier). "Brelyna...she wants to take this spell off me. If she does that I'm going to die - she doesn't believe me and Tolfdir didn't seem too concerned with keeping her from trying."

Brelyna winced a bit and glanced away. "I- I understand, but...they're worried."

"I don't care - look, I promise I'm not under anyone's control. I know you can sit there and claim 'gee, that's just what someone under someone's control would say' but it's the truth: I'm NOT under someone's control, I just really don't want to die." 

"I don't know what you want me to do, Onmund...I'm still just an apprentice here."

"Can you let me out?"

She looked up sharply, glaring at him. "What? No! I'm not getting into trouble over this - for all I know you ARE under someone's control and if I set you free and you hurt someone-"

"Brelyna, stop," he interrupted. "You're more worried about someone who MAY get hurt over someone who will DEFINITELY die."

Her expression softened a bit as she sighed; she leaned back against the circular stone lining of the blue-burning brazier in the middle of the hall, crossing her arms and staring down at the floor. "...are you completely certain about that? That you'll die, I mean."

"I am. I know what the spell is - functionally, anyway. I can't explain how it works, but I know if it gets tampered with or removed it'll kill me." It was technically true, so he didn't feel bad about the half lie.

"Who put it on you?"

He paused; he'd already mentioned there was another mage...whether he should have or not wasn't something he could decide just yet but there was no taking back what he'd already said. "There was another mage down there. She saved me."

"Another mage that...what, fell?"

Onmund nodded - it was close enough to the truth that again he didn't feel guilty. "Yes. She'd been down there a long time and when I ended up down there she saved my life. There just...wasn't a way back up. I was pretty resigned to living my life out down there, but at least I wasn't going to be alone."

Brelyna gave him an odd look. "...oh. I...I guess...it's good you wouldn't have been alone."

Her tone matched her expression and Onmund couldn't fathom what it meant, but then it didn't matter - what he needed was a way out of this room so he could somehow find his way back down to Kestrel before he - accidentally or otherwise - said more than he should. "I don't know what that woman's told you but I'm not under anyone's controlling spell...I'm not. And I don't need to be kept here."

"What are you going to do if someone lets you out?"

"Go home," he said quickly, though he couldn't bring himself to look up at her. "I just...want to go home."

They were both silent for a long moment, then Brelyna sighed and moved back toward the stairs. "I'm sorry...but there's not much I can do. I'm really, very sorry."

"Brelyna, wait - you can still help me. Help me convince them-"

She didn't give any indication she heard him and soon disappeared out of his view; he punched the invisible sphere with an angry grunt and stomped over to drop onto his bed.

If he could just tell the entire truth this wouldn't be a problem...but he couldn't do that, not when he knew there was someone already looking for the crown. He didn't think the others here (with the exception of that Thalmor woman) would actually be tempted to try and take it for themselves but that didn't make it any less dangerous -- either Kestrel would kill them to keep the crown secret or whoever was trying to find it could possibly harm them if they got in the way.

Not for the first time he wished he'd not gotten distracted (and comfortable) with his life and lessons; if he'd kept digging through the library to find books to teach himself portal magic or some kind of messaging spell then maybe he'd have the knowledge now to escape or get a message to Kestrel, to let her know he was...well, not entirely all right, but he was alive and among what he hoped were still reasonable friends. If he could could reach her and explain his situation maybe SHE could do something for him...

Then again, he shouldn't be relying on his master to rescue him...after all, why would she try to come retrieve him when she could just kill him to keep the crown safe? Again, he didn't hold it against her (between the two of them he WAS the most expendable) but obviously he'd rather stay alive if he could...alive and WITHOUT telling any secrets.

Out of sheer boredom he fell asleep again and seemed to sleep through the night to wake early the next morning to find Tolfdir, Faralda, Colette Marence, and that Thalmor woman Varea standing at his door. At the sight of them his stomach and mood soured - he knew what they had to be here for, especially if Colette was here this time.

"At least we can say my funeral was well attended."

Tolfdir seemed a bit surprised at that - it wasn't exactly a polite good morning, after all - but he cleared his throat and clasped hands behind his back. "Your concerns have been heard, Onmund, and I assure you we aren't dismissing them out of hand, but I'm afraid we also cannot take you at your word. Not after knowing what's laid on you."

"You realize she's lying to you, right?" Onmund asked, jabbing a finger toward Varea. "She can't possibly have seen the spell on me before because it was created by the mage who put it on me. It's unique and known to a single woman and it's NOT that woman beside you."

Varea sighed and shook her head. "This...might take awhile, Master mage," she said softly, looking to Tolfdir. "He's likely more deeply ensnared than I thought."

"I am not. But I'm wasting my breath with you," Onmund growled. "Do whatever you want but I'm not letting you kill me."

'And I'm not telling you a damn thing,' he added silently.

"Are we ready then?"

The three women nodded at Tolfdir's question; the moment Tolfdir dropped the magical barrier three different paralyzing spells came flying at him -- Onmund managed to deflect two of them and partly resisted the third but it slowed him enough that the next two struck him directly. He tipped over and slammed the top of his head into the table beside the bed, as stiff as a statue and unable to catch himself; Varea looked guilty as they sat him (mostly) upright on his bed but Onmund didn't care if she felt bad that she'd banged him up or not -- so far as he was concerned she was his enemy, and no amount of guilty looks or gentle words would excuse the fact she was going to cause his death.

He couldn't move his body and his range of vision was severely limited but his mind was free; at the first hint of magic tugging at him, seeking Kestrel's spell, Onmund slammed his wards and mental protections into place. Varea was directly in front of him - the only one he could really see - and he felt some satisfaction at seeing her sway in place as her concentration and spell were both abruptly shattered by his defenses.

"Are you all right?" came Colette's voice from somewhere behind him.

Varea nodded, rubbing a hand to her temple. "Mm...I'm fine. It seems this mageling's master has some teeth. I wasn't really expecting the easier spells to work but it was at least worth a try -- I do have a better idea of what we are contending with now. I'll try to be as gentle and careful as I can but do understand that the stronger the spells I utilize for this sort of breaking aren't kind."

"Yes, well, that's what I'M here for," Colette replied.

Inwardly Onmund gathered himself, staring up at Varea (because he could look nowhere else).

'Just you try me, Thalmor bitch.'

\----------------------------------------------

Sometimes it didn't take much effort to foil her spells, sometimes it took all of his concentration, and a few times he didn't have to do a damn thing; by the time they left his room (and left him awkwardly leaning against the headboard of his bed, waiting for the paralyze spell to wear off) Onmund was physically sore and mentally exhausted. 

But so far as he was concerned he'd won today's battle. Being paralyzed had left him unable to speak and free to focus all of his mental strength on his inner defenses so they had learned nothing and had done nothing to him. As they'd left he swore he heard Varea mention something about "differing tactics" but at the same time his blood was roaring in his ears; when he finally collapsed limp in his bed, free of the paralyze spell and with muscles aching from being locked in the same position all afternoon Onmund wanted to do little more than sleep -- his little victory today was a small comfort as he straightened himself out in the bed and buried his face into the lumpy pillow.

It was also comforting to note that he'd not felt any hint of Kestrel activating whatever it was that would make the spell that bound them together kill him. Could she tell he was fighting to keep it in place? He certainly hoped so...maybe that's what would save him long enough to figure out how to get back to her.

The next day they were back early in the morning and again Onmund found himself on the receiving end of a barrage of spells -- he was better rested today and definitely better prepared and to his surprise they backed off and left him alone after he defended himself against everything they threw at him.

Varea stood at the back of the group this time and it brought him a great deal of satisfaction to see the frustration in her face as they retreated; he couldn't make out their words but he could just hear them murmuring in the entryway to the stairs, and then they came back again with Varea at their head.

Onmund stood from where he'd been balanced on the edge of his bed, ready to fend them off again; Varea's spell, in the splint instant between leaving her hand and coming toward him, seemed clumsy and fell well short of the range of Onmund's ward, and for a very brief moment he felt a little smug to see the spell miss.

His blanket leaping off his bed - the ACTUAL target of the woman's spell - and flattening him to the headboard took him completely by surprise and gave them the opening they needed to bombard him with the paralyzing spells. Rather than arranging him on his bed like they had yesterday Varea instead grabbed him by the arms and Colette grabbed his feet, and they carefully maneuvered him from his room and down the stairs; he was trapped facing upward at first the ceiling, then the sky as they went outside, and then up at dingy stone as they carried him to a lower level of the College that he assumed was the Midden.

They didn't carry him very far through the Midden; they entered a dim, drafty room that smelled of mildew and waste and, with Tolfdir on one side and Colette on the other, they pressed Onmund's still, stiff form up against the wall. The paralyze spell fell away and before he could recover his hands were snapped into shackles in the wall that were at about waist height - it was the sort meant to hold a sitting prisoner with their hands above their head but Onmund was standing; the others quickly stepped away as he kicked and lunged at them.

"What is wrong with you? With all of you?" he growled.

The room was tiny and had a corner that leaked water into a mold-lined puddle in the corner; it was cold and had a draft, and stank like an outhouse. Varea shooed the others out of the room and Onmund watched helplessly as they filed out but remained standing just outside of the door, peering in.

"All right, young man... I may not be here on official Thalmor business but I feel it is my solemn duty to assist in this situation. My very career is built upon breaking magical holds such as what afflicts you - vampires, curses, possessions...I've seen it all and this is no different to me. I understand you are still in there and frightened, but I promise you my skill is more than enough to-"

"More than enough to put me in a dungeon," Onmund interrupted. "Trying to hide the murder? Keep the others from hearing the screams?"

Her expression went from politely professional to decidedly angry. "Are you accusing me of an intent to torture you?"

"Why else would I be down here? How can you let this go on?" he added, leaning to look beyond her to Tolfdir. The elder met his gaze but did not reply, and Onmund couldn't read his expression. "Answer me, Tolfdir! Look at this place -- look at where I'm going to die."

"You aren't going to die, you fool," came Faralda's exasperated response. "I certainly hope when your mind is freed you can stand to remember what this slave mark compelled you to do and say."

"We are down here," Varea growled through gritted teeth, "because there is less magical interference, and a more direct access to the flows of power that move through your College. That it looks like a dungeon was hardly my intent - would you like it better if you were shackled in a room draped in silks? The outcome will be the same: you will be freed of the spell on you and returned to where you belong. Am I understood?"

"I will say this again and for the last time: you will kill me if you remove this spell." Onmund spoke slowly and emphasized each word, staring at Varea with what he hoped was a brave, defiant look - he was trying to look more courageous than he felt at the moment...how could Tolfdir and the others do this to him? Why were they giving this Thalmor such free reign here? "I don't know who you are and I don't care how skilled you are or what you do for a living. I will not stand idle and let you kill me. Am I understood?"

Varea's expression soured and Onmund could see a nostril twitching in a silent huff of breath; behind her the others watched impassively...their expressions were all equally emotionless and something about that unnerved him. It seemed...out of place. And it was insulting too that none of them outwardly looked like they gave a damn about him.

Then Varea moved closer and her body blocked the view of the others; Onmund looked up into her face and grit his teeth. He just needed to focus as he did yesterday, that was all...she hadn't won then, and she wouldn't win today either.


	9. Chapter 9

He was still alive. And he was still winning.

Thankfully they hadn't turned that disgusting room into his "permanent" residence - they painstakingly escorted him to and from every day. After three days of fighting against Varea's attempts to remove Kestrel's spell they had left Onmund back in his room with a meal and a tub of hot (well...warmer than warm, but not really hot) water, and a change of clothing. He felt a little awkward stripping down knowing that his doorway was wide open but the desire to scrub the grime and grit off overpowered his need for modesty.

It was still a bit weird to be eating food after a year of not touching it but the sensation of something warm in his gut was a welcome one that he hadn't realized he'd missed; first it had been that tea and those potions, and then a proper meal later -- at the time he'd wondered how his body would handle having food and drink in it again but everything seemed to be working like it should be...and, he knew he couldn't go without food or drink without arousing suspicion. It was bad enough they didn't believe him now - or seem to care - about his claims of what the spell did...if he wasn't eating that would no doubt make them even less inclined to believe him about anything else and that was the last thing he needed right now -- he did NOT want to give anyone any additional reasons to believe Varea over him.

Something about Varea bothered him; she was too...nice. Too helpful. Too determined to do the "right thing." Admittedly Onmund only had Ancano and rumor to compare her to but the Thalmor were always haughty and vain, secure in their belief that Mer was superior to Man in all aspects. Ancano had barely kept his disdain for the college and its inhabitants in check and the only stories Onmund had heard from anyone else were never pleasant -- their business of eradicating Talos worship meant they "disposed" of the guilty and the suspected guilty with indifferent and frighteningly swift impunity...Varea seemed to be the exact opposite of that, from what he could see. She had certainly gotten angry with him challenging her and he knew he deeply frustrated her with his resistance but she'd yet to be openly cruel or rude and from what he could see and overhear she was always polite to Tolfdir and the others.

...something about it just seemed so off, though he could admit that maybe it was a mistake to paint all of a people in one broad stroke...but considering his current situation he couldn't manage to shake the feeling of something not being quite right. Why would a Thalmor be so determined to help someone else when it didn't benefit them in any way? It's not like she could have had orders prior to meeting him -- she'd admitted herself that she'd been expecting a corpse, not a man. Was it a question of pride? Of wanting to show off her skill? Was he merely some kind of a test subject for her to dissect? It just did not make sense to him.

So it went for the next two weeks: early mornings, escorted down into the Midden, and left in Varea's "care" for the day. Her spells were growing in strength - like she was starting at one end of a relative scale and working her way up - but Onmund was still able to foil everything she tried (and he was thankful that his mental defenses required no verbal or somatic components to function - all of it was solely inward, and all it needed was his concentration). At the end of each day Varea had seemed ready to pull her own hair out and had given him quite the variety of sour, ugly looks as they carted him back up to his room and left him to wait out the paralyze spell.

Tonight was no different -- they dumped him onto his bed and left and once the paralyze wore off Onmund rolled himself into his blankets and laid there as his muscles ached and quivered.

The whisper from his door seemed like part of a dream; he was already half asleep when he heard the "hsst" noise -- he couldn't figure out what it was or where it had come from at first, but it repeated two more times as he sat up and looked around. There was a shadow at his doorway - a hooded figure - and once his mind realized what it was looking at he stood up, wards at the ready.

"Who's there?"

"It's...it's me."

Brelyna's voice was just above a whisper and she poked herself out into full view of the doorway; most of the magelights and torches were burned out or dimmed (he was thankful for that little comfort) so he couldn't see her clearly -- he immediately grew suspicious, then just as quickly felt foolish as she conjured a tiny magelight of her own and he could see her face beneath the hood. She looked...uneasy. Scared, even. In one hand she held a small wooden plate that had a square of - from here it looked like a cut of some kind of cake or sweet, and she sat it on the floor and very carefully slid it across the threshold of the doorway.

The magical barrier there rippled but held and also allowed the plate to pass; Onmund cautiously padded over to stand over it, and over her, looking between both curiously.

"What's this?"

"A treat... I can't stay long, but I wanted to check on you."

Onmund bent and picked up the plate (whatever was on it smelled strongly of honey and was dusted with finely ground sugar) and gestured at himself with his empty hand. "Still alive, despite that damned Thalmor."

Brelyna nodded; she crept closer to the doorway and knelt there, nervously glancing over her shoulder. "Has she...said, or done anything to you? Anything...odd?"

"She's been doing her damnedest to remove the spell on me, and I won't let her."

"Well yes, I assumed she was doing that. But she's not...done anything _else_ , right?"

"No...why?"

Again Brelyna glanced over her shoulder to the stairs. "It's - it's weird. No one here..."

Onmund stepped back and sat the plate on his bed then came back over to sit cross-legged in the doorway. "No one what?"

"No one here disagrees with her...no one here believes YOU. Not even slightly. Like, no one can even consider the fact that you might be right."

He gently rocked back and forth where he sat, silent a moment; he'd at least hoped SOMEONE would believe him on some level...but no one? "You're sure? Not a single person? Everyone's on her side?"

Brelyna nodded. "Everyone. I've been... I've been avoiding her, myself, but I've also been asking after you as carefully as I can. Everyone is convinced she's right and that you're some poor soul enslaved to someone else. It's weird. You'd think someone, even if just a little bit, would be worried that what she's doing will kill you like you say...but not a single person I've asked has said otherwise, and I asked everyone but Tolfdir but he's been letting her do whatever she wants with you so I don't think I need to ask to know what he thinks."

Onmund frowned. "That IS weird. And...not exactly the best news for me."

"I don't know what to do about it, Onmund. I don't think there's anything I CAN do."

"Do YOU believe me?"

Brelyna was silent a long moment; Onmund felt his heart sink - if she was right, and if she didn't believe him either, then he didn't have a single ally within the College.

And then, "Yes...I at least think there's a possibility you're telling the truth."

He let out his breath in a noisy huff. "Oh, good...I was worried for a moment there."

She managed a weak smile. "That still doesn't help you any."

"No, it's helpful to know I have at least one person who doesn't think I'm a liar or a slave."

"You weren't a liar before you disappeared...and, and yes, I can't confirm one way or another if you're a liar or slave now, but I... I don't know. I feel like something strange is going on."

Onmund bit his lower lip, looking at her; he wanted to tell her that yes, something WAS going on - he wanted to tell her all about the crown and what the spell actually did, and all about Kestrel and her goals and what he'd been learning while he was gone...but what would Kestrel do to her if he told her everything? And why was he even considering it in the first place? He didn't know too much about Brelyna...she was very tight lipped about her family and why she'd come to the College. She'd mentioned that she enjoyed learning at her own pace, that she came from a family of powerful mages, and she had a love of books...if she wasn't practicing her casting or asleep Onmund had always found her with her nose buried in a book.

He thought of Kestrel's library, and wondered what Brelyna would think of it...and for a wild moment he found himself wondering if Kestrel would take a second apprentice -- Brelyna definitely didn't seem like the overtly ambitious sort, and he knew she had talent (probably more than he did, and look at what Kestrel had done with him!) But...that would also mean she'd be isolated. She'd have to give up everything (at least until they came up with a solution for that crown). Onmund hadn't been given much of a choice and Brelyna would be in the exact same position as he was if he told her everything...no. No, he couldn't do that to her.

...not unless he had to, perhaps. His denying Varea was as much for his safety as it was everyone else's - there weren't words to describe the terror he'd felt after just a glimpse of that crown and learning that someone was looking for it...someone who would easily harm anyone that may get in their way, whether that person meant to get in the way or not. He felt like an ass even thinking it but maybe sacrificing one or two was acceptable (since it would technically be temporary isolation...just until the crown was taken care of) if it meant thousands more would be saved. And, while he didn't want to force this on Brelyna, maybe she'd be the mind that Kestrel needed to help figure out how to destroy the crown.

He blew out a sigh that trailed into a growl, rubbing his hands down his face -- the biggest problem was there wasn't any way to tell her anything and still let her have a choice.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he answered quickly. "Listen...I do find it really strange that everyone is just wholly agreeing with Varea. I have no idea what you've learned while I was gone but maybe see if you can find any traces of her using magic on anyone."

Brelyna raised an eyebrow. "You think she's...bespelling the others? Tricking them into believing her?"

"She said her career is built on breaking things like possession and control, it wouldn't be much of a stretch for her to reverse that for her own ends. I just don't understand why she'd be so fixated on stripping this spell off me without anyone stopping her..."

"Maybe she's embarrassed."

Onmund nodded. "Maybe. She's definitely not happy with me, I know that much."

Brelyna glanced again to the stairs, then back to him. "I should go before I get caught." Her gaze moved around the edge of the doorway. "I'm at least glad the plate went through."

Nodding again he stood and retrieved the plate with its sweet and went to shove it back through the barrier; it hit and almost fell out of his hand -- so, things could pass through to him but not back out of the sphere he was trapped in. Good to know.

Brelyna didn't look too surprised at the result. "I'll see what I can do...and I'll come back to check on you."

"Just be careful...if she IS using magic on the others somehow, you don't want her getting to you too."

Brelyna pressed her lips into a thin line - he hoped she'd thought of that before he'd thought to say something but he couldn't read her expression - and nodded to him with a weak smile before creeping away and back down the stairs.

He watched her go and once he was certain she was gone he quickly ate the little honey cake and then dropped the plate onto a chair next to the ward robe -- he of course wasn't hungry but it did make him feel a bit better to know that Brelyna was on his side (sort of) and cared enough to bring him the treat. Of course, it also made him feel terrible to know he'd considered trapping her with him...he tried not to think about that half of it (or about the possibility that Varea wasn't so honest as she presented herself to be) and climbed back into bed.


	10. Chapter 10

Varea's attempts this morning had pulled no punches and the effort required to fend her off had actually given him a nosebleed...and, Varea actually looked ready to kill him with her bare hands. That felt good and helped to offset the throbbing in his head.

"Why do you continue to resist?!"

"I've-" he paused to clear his throat and blow droplets of blood off his lips. "-I've told you over and over why."

Visibly gritting her teeth she came forward and Onmund flinched back - she'd moved like she was going to slap him but instead he felt a scratchy cloth slammed into his face, shoving his head back into the filthy brick behind him; she roughly wiped his nose and upper lip and then stormed off, leaving him to sit and blink his vision back into focus after the knock to the back of his skull (and his head was already pounding to begin with).

Again he felt a satisfaction knowing he'd foiled her once more AND had frustrated her to the point she'd left the room...but, he knew he needed to temper that feeling with a healthy dose of caution -- it hadn't actually occurred to him that Varea might lose control of herself if pushed too far, and it seemed she'd come close to it this time. He could inwardly gloat all he wanted but he was officially into dangerous territory now...surely, even if no one believed him, SURELY no one would stand aside and let her seriously injure him...and yet, he had a feeling he should really be looking only to himself for his own safety and not anyone within the College. If Brelyna was right and there really was something going on here (some plot by the Thalmor to bring the College under their full control, perhaps) then there wouldn't be anyone left to look to for help. Well...no one aside from Brelyna; the fact that she was avoiding Varea seemed to be working in her favor and she seemed to be free of any influence.

Of course, if Varea realized that and decided to do something about it then Brelyna would be in danger...

Well...whatever. As painful as it was to admit to himself the crown was far more dangerous than one rogue (or willful) Thalmor trying to seize control, and between the crown and Brelyna he was only able to protect one of those things right now. Varea was contained to the College -- if that crown was seized there was no telling where it would end up or what would happen. Brelyna was...she was strong, and clever. She'd already been avoiding Varea on her own, and she became aware on her own that something wasn't quite right in the College. Onmund would just have to trust to her and her skill to keep herself safe while he...figured something out.

He hated that that the spells he knew that would likely free him all required his hands free -- if his hands were free to cast then he wouldn't need to cast the spells to free them. It was infuriating, really; he'd sought escape before, of course, but there'd never been a time to do so with how carefully they carted him around. That magical barrier around his room (COMPLETELY around it - even protecting the floor and ceiling...talk about overkill) had seemed impossible to remove from the inside but maybe he should take a second look at-

A sudden wave of something rolled over him then; the hair on his arms stood on end, his ears felt a pressure, and his teeth ached with the abrupt surge of energy. Whatever that had been thrummed through the stone beneath him as well -- a very quick rush of power had washed over and through the College, or so it seemed. What in the world had caused that? It had hit him and was gone very quickly - too quickly to properly analyze but he knew whatever it was had required a lot of power.

Varea came sweeping back into the room finally, interrupting his train of thought; she had a look to her that was...smug, and hinted at something terrible. It was a wild and unnatural look, in a way - in the vein of 'if looks could kill' and Onmund had the sudden (and appropriate) worry that whatever that power surge had been, SHE had been responsible for it.

"What was that?" he asked warily. He didn't honestly expect an answer but thought it would be beneficial to remind her (and rub in) that he wasn't entirely helpless.

"Nothing that concerns you...or, something that concerns ONLY you," she chuckled.

Onmund slowly looked up to her; he'd never heard her sound like THAT before -- low, certain, and with the implied promise of pain. "-what did you do?"

"What I must. It was my hope I could break you...free you of that spell and bring you to my side. I've exhausted all the gentle means of doing that and it is clear there won't be any easy means to sway you -- I no longer have the patience or the time to be nice. Do you understand?"

"Finally on to outright torture, are we?" Onmund replied, eyes narrowing. He shifted and tugged at where his wrists were shackled. "-so afraid of - so _frustrated_ by one little apprentice. It's a wonder that anyone lets you stay here, and if you think they're going to let you-"

Varea snorted and moved quickly - so quickly Onmund didn't actually perceive her movement - and suddenly had him by the hair, bending his head back and to the side like she intended to twist his head off completely. "That is where you're wrong, little fool. They are on my side, as you COULD have been. I couldn't claim you from your slavemaster so now I intend to force the matter: you will be made to talk, or she will come to keep you silent."

"I'm not-"

His words bit off as an awful pain shot from the top of his scalp halfway into his chest; he inhaled sharply and sucked in saliva, coughing and sputtering as well as letting out a pained cry -- yes, she had moved on to outright torture, and she...she knew, didn't she? 

Brelyna had been right: Varea had been up to something, just nothing that either of them could have guessed at.

What was it about Kestrel's spell that protected him from Varea? Or was it the spell at all? He did, after all, have mental protections in place...but if it was just a matter of overcoming his defenses to capture his will - to somehow "sway" him - or to force him to talk, WHY be so fixated on removing Kestrel's spell?

Another shock of pain shot through him but it was nothing compared to sudden crash of facts coming together into a chilling conclusion:

If Varea knew who Kestrel was, and what she was hiding, AND that Onmund was her apprentice...he was just another distraction, one meant to try and draw her out. Varea wasn't trying to remove the spell out of the goodness of her heart (not that he'd ever believed that anyway), she was trying to force Kestrel to...to kill him, or come rescue him, or otherwise turn her full attention away from the crown's defense. And if she HAD succeeded in removing the spell or breaking him, well...that just left her with a highly trained apprentice that she could turn against Kestrel, as well as access to everything he knew.

Six more jolts of pain followed by one long agonizing one that felt like it went on for an age before he was left to slump in his shackles gasping, whimpering, and quivering as his body tried to sort itself back out after every nerve in his body had seemingly been set on fire all at the same time.

It took a bit for his tongue to remember how to function; he looked up into Varea's feral grin. "W-who are you? What did you do?" he growled.

"I am as you - a loyal servant. And I have made certain no one will interrupt our little chats. Catch your breath, little fool -- we've all afternoon to talk."

\------------------------------------

She left him a sobbing, angry, agonized mess when she finally left; his mental defenses weren't entirely useful here -- it was like using a bucket to hold back a dam...the wrong tool for the task at hand, as all they really did were fend off her mental assaults. If his hands had been free he had a variety of wards he could have tried but as those fended off more directly damaging spells (and Varea's were based on physical contact) he wasn't certain those would fare better.

That really only left his own willpower and ability to withstand the pain; that was both a depressing as well as comforting thought -- what would win here was undeniably his own character, nothing more and nothing less. And with that came the slightly more comforting thought that Kestrel could kill him at any time, and he'd technically die a hero...technically. No one would know about it but at least he could walk into Sovngarde knowing he didn't break.

All afternoon Varea had worked him over -- sometimes she assaulted his mind, sometimes she sent unbearable pain arcing through him like a lightning bolt, and a few times she'd resorted to old fashioned physical violence; she wasn't all that strong physically so he suspected it was just to keep him off-balance. Still, he held...and he resolved to continue holding. Either he'd escape, he'd be rescued, or he'd die, and he could take what pleasure he could from seeing Varea steadily losing her mind in frustration from his continued resistance. 

There was silence now in his little room save for his own labored breathing; he was also very aware of the chill down here too. The quiet dragged on as he steadily grew colder (shivering made his aches and pain worse) and yet he didn't hear anyone approaching. Usually when Varea was done with him Tolfdir and one of the others would come to "escort" him back to his room upstairs shortly after she'd gone, but that didn't seem to be the case this time. 

'Probably just another torment,' he thought grimly. Freezing him half to death to weaken him...to make him soft. 'I've been cold before - this is nothing compared to Kestrel freezing me in a block of ice once.' The memory brought a pained chuckle -- it'd been entirely on accident but it had happened, and yes he'd been mad at the time (at himself for letting a ward slip) and had spent hours warming back up after. He may be chilled now but he wasn't 'my legs are encased in ice' chilly; at least the cold was numbing some of the pain.

He waited, and waited, but no one came to get him that night; the temperature continued to plummet until he really was freezing -- he tucked his legs up as close to his chest as he could to try and ball up for warmth while conjuring a small flame in each hand (he was at least thankful they'd stopped forcing him to stand and that he was shackled "properly" in a sitting position on the floor). The flames helped a little bit but it also meant he couldn't sleep as each time he nodded off his spell faltered and he'd wake up freezing again.

\---------------

"Poor little fool...cold, my dear?" Varea's voice echoed ahead of her, reaching him before she came through the doorway; it had to be morning, then...he'd survived the night.

Onmund lifted his chin, staring up at her as she swept into the room...and then conjured the flames in his hands again; anger flashed in her eyes and she backhanded him roughly. His head swam a bit but he had all his defenses firmly in place and was ready when she started in on him again.


	11. Chapter 11

Something like a week (maybe two weeks?) passed before he saw Brelyna again; Onmund thought it had to be late at night - it certainly wasn't early enough for Varea to have come back - when he first noticed the shadow slinking into the room, only for it to be revealed as Brelyna in darker robes and a black cloak once she'd gotten close enough to the little flames he held in each hand.

"Divines... Oh, Onmund..."

He went to say something but his mouth was dry, his lips cracked; all he could manage was a weak smile as he clenched fists and extinguished the flames.

Brelyna hurried over to him and pulled her cloak off, spreading it over his legs and tucking it in around his hips -- he was too chilled to really feel anything from it but appreciated the gesture. The cloak had been hiding most of her and definitely concealed a small sack she held in one hand; the sack was dropped to the ground near his feet as she shuffled on her knees to bend and peer at the shackles.

"What...what are you doing?" he croaked. He licked his lips to try and work some moisture back into his mouth but all he could taste was blood -- his nose had bled rather frequently lately and his busted lips usually scabbed over in the night and somewhat glued his mouth shut (and of course Varea hadn't bothered to feed him anything...thank the gods THAT wasn't an issue anymore).

Brelyna continued to poke and feel around the shackles with the tips of her fingers. "I'm getting these off, and then we're leaving," came her distracted answer. She began to mutter and wave her hands; Onmund could sense her trying out a variety of spells on the shackles, trying each in sequence until finally the cuffs popped open and his arms flopped painfully down to his sides -- his hands were tinged purple and he had cuts and bruises around where the edges of the shackles had dug into his skin, his shoulders were on fire from being trapped in the same position for so long, and soon after his hands began to burn and tingle as blood rushed back into them.

"What's she done?"

"I have no idea but it's nothing good. No one even remembers your name, Onmund -- no one knows you're here anymore. Or that you ever were here. And everyone obeys her without question. I think she was trying to control me as well, and I think it worked a little bit because after a few days I sort of...forgot about you too. I would have come sooner if not for that."

Onmund peered blearily up into her face. "Why are you here now, then? You should run before you're caught-"

Brelyna shook her head and reached out to briskly rub her hands over his. "No, no - she's gone, she's left the College - her and some of the others...at least Tolfdir, Colette, Faralda, and Arniel, maybe more. I don't know why. Maybe that's why I snapped out of it and remembered."

Left the College...? He tried to pull his thoughts in order, to try and remember if she'd let anything slip; all he could recall was just...pain, and a lot of it. There wasn't any recollection of her (or him) speaking at all, really. Had he finally been broken and he just didn't remember it? Gods, he hoped not...Kestrel would kill him for sure -- but since he WAS alive, maybe that meant Varea hadn't managed to rip the information out of him.

So, why was she gone?

And...what did he do now?

Well, that second question was a lot easier to answer than the first once he got his head in order; once he could feel his fingers again he cast a few restoring spells over himself and was relieved to feel the aches and pains fading -- he'd tried multiple times before now to try and mend himself but his numbed fingers and scrambled mind hadn't been able to handle the finer details needed to cast from the restoration school (...ugh, falling back into that mindset already). It took a lot out of him just to get himself back in order and once he'd mended himself back into a functional human being he found Brelyna waiting there with a pair of boots (they looked like HIS boots and he wondered what she'd done to retrieve them) and a cloak similar to her own but in a midnight blue.

"Brelyna, I-" He paused, wondering what to say. If he told her anything, especially now, then she was stuck with him... "I need to escape, and you need to run. Just find somewhere safe, far away from here, and - and I'll come find you again when you can come back."

"What? What do you mean? I'm not - I'm not running away, I want to help you. This is MY home too, Onmund. These are my - our - friends and teachers. I can't just abandon them...we have to stop whatever Varea is doing."

"I KNOW what she's doing," he growled. "Or, I think I do. I'm pretty convinced I know. But the problem is if I tell you anything about it, you..." He stuffed his feet into his boots, frustrated -- what could be considered "safe" to tell her? "Look, I - when I was trapped down there, yes, I found another mage. I became HER apprentice, and she's really strict on who she allows to know about her and her secrets. If I tell you any more then you'll be bound by those rules too, if not killed."

Brelyna's eyes widened and she took a step back from him. "You ARE under someone's control..."

"No, no no no - I'm not under anyone's control!" He was almost pleading at this point - Divines, could just ONE PERSON on this damned continent believe him? Just once? "Yes, there's a spell on me, and yes, she placed it on me. It can't control me but it can kill me if she wants me dead -- it's...it's..."

...fine. Fine. There wasn't time to argue this. It was easier to beg forgiveness than it was to ask permission and if Brelyna ended up immortal too then he'd have endless lifetimes to earn that forgiveness.

"-it's an experimental spell meant to make me immortal - she's immortal too." Close enough to the truth - fine details would take too long. "She can tell if its being tampered with and she can trigger it to kill me. And it's because there's something a hundred - no, a thousand times more dangerous than the Eye of Magnus down there, and she has to keep it safe and hidden. As her apprentice I was helping with that until Varea managed to rip me out of her hands. If I had to guess I'd say Varea knows what's down there, came here pretending to be Thalmor so she could establish herself, work her magic, and then snatched me up too as part of whatever plan she has to steal what we were protecting. Believe me when I say it's something worth dying for and killing to protect."

Brelyna's eyes went even wider. "Oh no..."

"So we have to get out of here and try to-"

"-Onmund, she didn't leave alone, remember?"

He stopped, thinking a moment...yeah, she HAD mentioned that several of the College masters had left along with Varea. "Damn it, that's right...and Kestrel won't have any reason to stop and consider who she's killing in the middle of a fight. I definitely don't care if she kills Varea but the others are in danger. We need to get out of here NOW. We have to...to... To beat them to her, somehow."

His legs felt wobbly even after mending himself and he slipped twice climbing up the rickety ladder out of the Midden; there weren't words to describe how that first lungful of fresh Skyrim air had felt. The elation at being free was short-lived however, replaced instead by a gnawing sense of dread as he quickly glanced around -- no one seemed to be near. Good. They could slip out unnoticed.

Brelyna followed close behind him as he led the way out of the College and across the narrow bridge that connected it to the mainland; no one had taken Faralda's usual place at the start of the bridge to greet newcomers and once their boots sank into the snow of Winterhold's streets there weren't even any guards in view.

"Where are we going?"

"Saarthal -- I think I know how to climb down," Onmund answered. "-were there still supplies in Saarthal? Specifically, food?"

"There should be... Arniel was still making regular trips there until recently - I don't recall him or anyone else carrying anything out of there."

"Good. You'll need as much as you can carry."

They crunched along a few feet more. "-WE will need as much as we can carry. Don't think I'm going to let you starve yourself on my account."

He blew out a breath that fluttered his lips together. "It's a long story but I don't actually need to eat anymore. I'll carry what I can but it'll all be for your sake, not mine."

Glancing over a shoulder he caught Brelyna's expression of equal parts confusion and suspicion but she didn't press the issue and stomped along behind him as they waded through the snow and out of Winterhold, their steps turning toward rougher wilderness and the tiny foot path they'd cut through the mountainous area that would eventually spit them out on a hilltop overlooking Saarthal's entrance. The snow wasn't all that deep but Onmund was quickly tiring; the lack of sleep and all that time spent within Varea's "tender" care had done more to him than he'd realized - more than what a healing spell could help. Saarthal wasn't that far from Winterhold...if he could just reach it then before climbing down he could rest a bit (or maybe Kestrel would notice them and help too).

Right as they crested the hill Onmund felt a sudden...shudder rush through him -- a sort of full-bodied shiver, little more than a twitch, and just as suddenly he found himself staring up at the sky.

But his glimpse of the sky was just as brief as the shudder had been, and then there was nothing.

\----------------------------------------

In a way Onmund imagined himself back in the Hall of Mirrors.

His awareness of himself was scattered into many reflections that he switched between, seemingly at random: there was his body, with his mind looking out through his eyes like wide windows; he was also above his body, looking down at where it lay on a dusty bedroll beside a pitiful fire and even more pathetic looking dunmer woman; there was the feeling of being very small, and curled up on the bosom of a familiar but unseen presence; and, of course, at times his floating self seemed to flicker around the room to gaze down at his still body from many different vantage points.

When he found himself awake and aware within the "him" that floated above himself he squinted down at his body and saw that his chest still rose and fell -- his physical form was alive, at least. There wasn't enough of "himself" in this floating form to puzzle out what had happened or how to rejoin with his body but "it" took comfort knowing that so long as the body was alive then there was a chance to fix whatever this was.

Brelyna was sitting beside his body, knees pulled up to her chest and staring intently at him; "he" had no way of knowing what she was thinking but she'd at least dragged his body out of the snow and into...wherever here was. There wasn't enough "him" to remember where they'd been heading or what they'd been doing, and in between her blinks he flicked over to another place somewhere within the room -- "he" felt he was over her shoulder now, looking down at himself.

And it was the perfect angle to watch as his body sat up and held its head.

"Onmund?" Brelyna pushed forward onto her knees and crawled toward his body, reaching out to grab his body's shoulders.

His body shrugged her hands off and ran its hands down his chest and across his face; his expression changed to confusion, and again his body shoved out a hand to push Brelyna away.

"Sit down and be silent, girl," came his voice...but, "he" hadn't said anything.

Brelyna blinked at him, then looked angry; his body threw the top of the bedroll off itself and looked down at its legs.

More words came out of his body then. "Well, this was unexpected...and poses a problem. --would you stop your fretting, child? He's alive, just asleep."

"Who are you? You're not- you're not Onmund. What are you?"

"He" watched as he pushed a hand through his hair. "I'm his master, girl. This was not intended. Where are we?"

"His...master-"

"-shut up and focus," his body interrupted. "Where are we? This is more important than anything else right now."

"S-Saarthal," Brelyna answered after a pause. "Onmund wanted to climb down to you."

His body rubbed a hand along its chin (and "he" abruptly switched to be looking out of his own eyes). "I see... Well, that's good then." His body stood and kicked the rest of the bedroll out of the way. "That bitch and her little minions have taken the crown and made a proper mess of things. We need to get my spirit back into my body, and then plan to get it back."

"Onmund" imagined his eyes going wide: Varea HAD been after the crown! And...what had she done to his master?

"What have you done to Onmund?"

"He" watched as his body tugged its boots on - Brelyna was somewhere behind him. "Before you get all up in arms I promise you that he's fine -- my soul has merely displaced his and possessed his body. He's still inside here-" one of his fingers tapped his temple "-and he's fine. It seems that spell that tethered us together had an unintended side effect...though now I wonder why my last apprentice's soul didn't attach itself to my body like I have with Onmund's... Curious. But something to examine later. Follow me, be silent, and do whatever I ask you to do. Understand?"

"But-"

"I asked if you understood. Yes or no."

"He" didn't like the tone coming out of his mouth and Brelyna didn't look like she liked it either but she muttered an understanding and followed along behind his body as it led the way from the claustrophobic little side room; the hall beyond it was very nearly completely caved in -- "he" wondered how Brelyna had gotten him in here through this jumbled mess of rock and soil and in the same instant was grateful that she'd hidden them so well. As his body climbed through the small openings "he" could feel the bite of stone into the knees as well as the sting of a few scrapes along his arms and hands as his body periodically lost its balance or something shifted underneath them and they slipped.

"His" point of view changed a few times as they carefully crept along the halls of Saarthal, heading for the far room with the dragon wall in it that led to the way down to Kestrel's lair, but when they reached the room that had once held the Eye of Magnus his body jogged down the stairs and actually moved to step up onto the base where the Eye had once floated.

"Get up here, yes - right there, yes," came his body's instruction to Brelyna, urging the dunmer to stand beside it (and very close). "I've never been in this situation before so I don't care to make risks where I don't have to."

"Onmund" watched as his body went into a casting that was full of intricate, delicate hand movements; both his body and "himself" vibrated with the ancient power that was draining out of the base and into their crafted spell -- a thin line of light manifested in the air in front of them and with the sound of ripping parchment pulled open into a roughly oval-shaped portal that shifted between an orange and white light.

"In. Quickly," his body ordered.

Brelyna brushed by so closely that his body was nudged aside, and her form quickly disappeared from view through the portal; "his" vision was blinded by the white-orange light as his body followed her through and came out in a decidedly darker room that smelled of damp soil and positively vibrated with rapidly fading magic.

His body raised a hand and conjured a small magelight orb, illuminating a room that was perfectly square and hardly bigger than the rune circle that was carved into the stone floor -- "his" viewpoint was again limited to what was in view of his body's eyes but it did seem like this room lacked any sort of way in or out of it...no doors or windows that "he" could see nor anything to suggest that there was or had ever been doors or windows. 

"What IS this?"

"In days long forgotten mages would open portals willy nilly, from wherever they were to wherever they were going -- those sorts of spells were a simple matter to intercept or redirect. However, leaving from or going to a specially prepared circle such as this-" his body tapped the toe of a boot against one of the runes - there was no telling how old it was yet it still looked brand new "-was considerably safer...especially if you are like me and make it so anyone who tries to get in here gets rerouted to this circle, which they can't leave unless I permit it."

Brelyna squatted down on her heels to peer at the runes. "...I don't even recognize most of these."

"Of course not. From what I've seen with Onmund it doesn't seem like your College teaches much at all. Come along."

"Onmund" tried not to panic as his body turned toward the wall to its left and walked directly at, and then directly through, it and out into a hallway he knew well; the wall behind them looked as blank as he'd believed it had been -- he'd never known there was another room hidden here, and this was only a few yards from the door of his own bedroom! Without waiting for Brelyna his body began to hurry down the hallway; "he" began to notice signs of a fight - scorch marks, broken lanterns, patches of frost still clinging to the walls, and several busted doors - the closer they drew to Kestrel's room, and once inside it "he" was overwhelmed with a feeling of guilt and anger as he saw the corpse of Tolfdir laying on its back near to the stone slab that Kestrel's coffin (now shattered and strewn around the room) had once rested on.

"-oh no...you DID kill them..."

"He" was faintly aware of Brelyna's accusation -- as his body hurried by Tolfdir's remains he tried his best to get a look at it but couldn't see much more than a bloodstain the size of a fist soaked into the shoulder of Tolfdir's robes...he was otherwise uninjured and without another scratch on him so far as "Onmund" could see.

"This was not my doing. Believe me when I say a small group of mages is hardly a threat to me...but a servant of a Daedric Prince using stolen souls and blessed by her patron? THAT is considerably more than I was prepared to handle."

His boot kicked out and moved some of the shattered remnants of her coffin away from the hole in the stone slab; as his body swung around and began to lower itself down the stone ladder "Onmund" shifted again and was able to watch the top of his head as his body went down and "he" had little choice but to follow. Brelyna carefully climbed down above him and stuck close to his body as they hurried down the line of coffins to where the runed corner - once hidden from view by illusions - had been blown outward and into the room where the crown had once been. Beyond the jagged corner in the crown's room were the remains of Colette, Arniel, and Faralda -- all of them bore similar bloodstains on their shoulders and, like Tolfdir, were otherwise unharmed.

In a twisted, maimed heap at the base of a plain stone pedestal was Kestrel's remains; it was definitely bizarre to watch himself pick up the broken and bloodied body and carry it from the room as though it weighed nothing. Kestrel's illusions were gone and "he" could tell that while she still looked skeletal (little more than leather stretched over a frame) her face was somewhat fuller than he recalled seeing before...maybe that spell between them really was giving her back more of a living appearance.

Not...that it really mattered now. But his body didn't seem disturbed to carry the remains of its master; when they came to the ladder his body had laid Kestrel's on the floor then laid with his head between her thighs and her legs over his shoulders, paralyzing the corpse in that position before slipping free and lifting it to sit on his shoulders -- with the corpse balanced on his shoulders his body then climbed back up the ladder and plodded over to the mostly untouched white coffin that still stood against the wall.

"Thankfully they didn't damage this one or we'd all be in trouble..." his body muttered. It released the spell on Kestrel's body, then moved the coffin flat with a gesture and lowered the corpse in. "All right, you - come here," his body said, gesturing for Brelyna to come stand behind it.

"Here?"

Onmund's body nodded when Brelyna stepped behind it, then turned its back to it. "Yes, there -- if he falls, catch him. When he wakes back up just stay with him and wait on me, I trust him to know what he can, cannot, and _should not_ do."

His body lifted its hands in front of it, keeping its fingers together and pressing the tips of its pointers and thumbs together to form a sort of spade shape between them; inside "him" he felt a tugging. It was insistent but not like Varea's spell had been -- where Varea's had hooked in and ripped him upward this one felt more like it was carefully peeling a part of him away.

"He" crashed back into his own body abruptly; each limb spasmed and he tipped backwards into Brelyna's arms, gasping air into his lungs and flinching as the coffin in front of them slammed shut.

"Onmund - is it...you?"

"It's me...that was...that was really weird and I never want to do that again," he panted. Brelyna helped steady him on his feet and finally he was able to turn around to look at her. "You're all right?"

"A few scrapes but I'm fine. You...really scared me, collapsing like you did."

"In my defense I didn't do it on purpose," he replied with a small laugh. "It... It's been a very strange year. And, I guess now that you've met Kestrel I can tell you everything. I know what she's going to ask you when she wakes up." He wanted to add 'IF she wakes up' but knew that Kestrel wouldn't have gone through the trouble of retrieving her body if there wasn't a way to restore her. "So...let's go across the hall - there's a sitting room there and the chairs are rather comfortable - and I'll tell you the entire story, and then you can ask whatever you want. Can't guarantee I'll know the answer but I'll try. No more secrets."

Brelyna nodded and picked her way across the mess of the room and out into the hall; Onmund glanced over to where Tolfdir lay, grinding his teeth together at the sight of his dead mentor. Varea may have gotten what she was after but Onmund was determined to make her pay or die trying...which, considering how Varea had seemingly destroyed Kestrel in a fight, he wasn't at all sure how he could accomplish the first rather than immediately suffering the second.


	12. Chapter 12

As they climbed back up to Saarthal Onmund marveled at how much easier it was to make very minor changes to the environment (as he carved out stairs and created walkways from earth and stone ripped from the walls or dug into steep inclines, all so they could climb a roughshod but solid staircase all the way back up to the dragon wall room) versus trying to push outward against seemingly infinite tons of dirt and rock - he'd only practiced this sort of thing in the storage room and had been limited in what he was able and allowed to do, but with so much empty space here he felt only limited by what he could imagine and not by his personal skill level with the magic.   
  
Brelyna had looked surprised and impressed at the skill as Onmund dug and shaped, and expressed an interest in learning it herself; he was able to show her a few things on the way up (and it was a very...VERY long climb) but found the bulk of his attention was needed to actually shift and shape the path, and as he worked he began to send his senses outward and started to piece together how things had opened up enough to allow him to fall through a year ago.  
  
Here and there he could sense very tiny openings zig-zagging around them - none of them were wider than two or three of his fingers - and they stretched roughly from the direction of Kestrel's buried home up toward the surface.  It occurred to him that they couldn't have been underground without any means of getting air down there -- Kestrel might not need to eat or drink but surely she still needed to breathe, and so did he.  As he pressed outward, tediously following along the crazy, winding, random paths of these little...air holes, he supposed, he began to match up their shapes and paths with the haphazard parts he'd tumbled down; at some point in the past someone must have found one of the tiny openings (he'd ask how they found it and why they wouldn't assume it was some kind of animal or insect burrowing, but they WERE dealing with the Prince of Schemes here) and had started digging their way down...and as they dug and shifted dirt (and removed a lot of it) the ground started to become unstable and collapse, which only made the openings wider, steeper, and more dangerous to navigate.  
  
Whoever had started the digging probably had no clear idea of where they were actually going and kept following the air hole tunnels, creating bigger holes and a steadily growing mess of open areas that eventually crossed paths with part of a glacier that let the ice invade the tunnels and add erosion into the jumbled chaos, and once he had a mental map of the jagged, dug out path from top to bottom he realized that yes...it really HAD been pure chance that he'd not only survived the fall but had managed to fall through the areas that were connected all the way down to crash through into the large cavern-like room where Kestrel kept her pet spider-construct (which, in his mind's eye, felt partially like a "blank" area in the earth -- he assumed Kestrel had warded the place to avoid detection and that PROBABLY prior to Varea's invasion he wouldn't have been able to see any of the compound at all).    
  
Not for the first time Onmund wished he'd had parchment and something to write with, to see if he could accurately sketch out everything he was sensing -- he tried a few times to describe the paths to Brelyna but it was difficult to describe something like this in a lot of detail without any visual aids. Not being able to "see" the shape of the compound and its rooms also made description rather difficult -- what he could sense stopped at the top half of the web-filled room where the spider was and couldn't go further, though he remembered quite well what the inside of that webbed room had looked like (and he still shuddered at the memory).  
  
 He did wonder why the spider had taken him to Kestrel... Maybe it, as a magical construct, could sense magic in turn and that's how it knew to take him somewhere...Kestrel did say he wouldn't have been left alive if he'd not had magical talent, but that didn't explain WHY the creature would know to do that if no one had ever fallen before Onmund had come along; maybe the thing had once been used as another defense when she'd lived among mortals above ground and it was trained to bring anything it found to her whether it was magical or not.  
  
...not that it really mattered how or why or anything like that now, and though he put the spider out of his mind to focus on his current task he did find himself curious if he could create a construct of his own sometime.  
  
Assuming he lived through whatever was coming.  
  
When they finally shoved their way through the dead roots and vines that crisscrossed the floor at the base of the dragon wall Onmund was mentally and physically exhausted, and laid there on his back for a moment to catch his breath after he'd hauled himself up onto the ring of solid ground around the vines.  
  
"Are you all right?  I can go find the supplies on my own if-"  
  
He shook his head, flashing Brelyna a tired smile.  "I'll be all right, I just need a second."  
  
She nodded and dropped down to sit beside him; he closed his eyes to try and gather himself and when he opened them he found Brelyna staring at him.  "...what?"  
  
"It's just hard for me to believe everything you've told me...everything you've been through.  And to think, I was mad at you for not letting us know you were alive."  
  
Onmund chuckled a bit and she joined in after a brief pause.  "Believe me, those first few weeks all I could think about was escaping, and I still thought about it even after she almost killed me.  It wasn't so bad after awhile but when I finally saw the crown and understood how serious it all was, THAT was when I finally stopped thinking of escape in any form.  I mean, sure, I missed everyone, and it was difficult to wrap my head around being immortal, and-" he stopped and let out a noisy huff of breath.  "-actually, I'm still not sure I've come to peace with that yet.  It was one thing to imagine that I'd grow old and die down there and no one would ever know what happened to me, but it's something COMPLETELY different to know that I'm _not_ going to grow old and feeble, that I'm going to outlive everyone I've ever known.  If I never return to the surface I guess it'd be the same thing as dying - the same thing to everyone up here, anyway - because I'd still reach a point where no one knows or remembers me.  To the world I'm just...gone.  The world is going to change and I'll be the same."  
  
"Physically, maybe," Brelyna said after a moment.  "That doesn't mean your mind, your emotions, or even your spirit are incapable of changing."  
  
"I guess.  Still.  The thought of outliving everything I know NOW is...weird, and uncomfortable.  It might be different if I'm up on the surface as a part of the world and changing with it but until the crown is dealt with there's no returning here. I may as well be dead."  
  
He went quiet after that and so did she -- laying there in the silence letting his mind and body rest helped a great deal and soon enough he was rolling over to push himself to his feet.  "All right, let's grab what we're after and get back - I feel safer down there than here."  
  
Saarthal felt even eerier now -- knowing that those most familiar with the place were under the control of...whatever Varea was, and could potentially have trapped or sabotaged this place on their way in, wasn't a pleasant thought; if Varea had never intended for anyone but herself to leave it seemed reasonable to be wary of any nasty surprises left behind but thankfully they encountered nothing but normal, dusty, crumbling halls.  And about halfway back to one of the front rooms that they'd used as a sort of home base Onmund sighed loudly enough for Brelyna to hear.  
  
"What?"  
  
"It just occurred to me that... All right, thinking back to the very beginning, one of the things I'd held out hope for was if anything happened to Kestrel then I'd go back to normal.  No more immortality or anything like that."  
  
Brelyna partly turned around to look at him curiously, then nodded as understanding crossed her face.  "And that didn't happen."  
  
"That didn't happen," Onmund repeated, sighing again.  "I should just stop thinking about it...there's no telling if I'll even survive a fight with Varea, or with whatever that crown actually does."  
  
"Well if you're going to think like _that_ maybe you _should_ focus on the immortality," Brelyna snorted, turning back around.  "You can't go into a battle already expecting to lose."  
  
"YOU haven't seen what we're up against...and you also don't have the training that I do," he added quietly.  They fell silent again and remained that way as they located the abandoned supplies and began to pack food and waterskins into a pair of burlap sacks; Onmund wished they had actual backpacks so he'd have both hands free on the way back down but he consoled himself with the fact that there'd been food left here at all -- he didn't want to venture anywhere near Winterhold or the College at the moment (and for good reason).    
  
By Brelyna's estimation of her own needs they packed about twelve days (if rationed carefully) of supplies into the now-hefty sacks, then let their footsteps turn back toward the far end of Saarthal; on the trek back down Onmund was careful to rip up and tear apart the stairs he'd created - easy enough even with one hand - and he even closed up the hole in the webbed room for good measure.  
  
They left the food and water in Onmund's room and then found themselves staring awkwardly at one another, both with the unspoken question of "now what?" on their minds.  
  
"-I have no idea how long Kestrel needs to recover," he started.  "And, um...honestly, no idea what to do while we wait for her.  I can always practice my spells and maybe show you what she's shown me?  -- oh, wait.  Let me show you the library."  
  
He hurried out of his room and out into the hall, pausing to let Brelyna catch up with him, and then led her over to the doorway of the library; there he paused and managed a sort of mischievous grin.  "Prepare to be amazed.  I know I was."  
  
The latch lifted under his hand and he pushed the door open then muttered and started the chain reaction of the lanterns lighting; he stepped out of her way to let her inside in time to watch as the library steadily brightened, and he grinned again at her look of surprise.  
  
"...it's huge."  
  
"Yes it is. With books Kestrel's only rules are don't damage them, don't write directly in them, and don't take a book out of the room its stored in.  Other than that, read whatever you want."  
  
Brelyna stared around, then roughly elbowed Onmund in the side hard enough that he grunted.  "You were alive down here all this time AND you had this many books.  I can't believe you."  
  
Onmund rubbed the sore spot on his ribs with a grimace and a smile.  "I'll leave you to it - I want to get some sleep.  I'm...not sure if Kestrel's rules about exploring are going to apply to you so try to stay in here, in the sitting room, or in my room."  
  
Her left her to wander among the shelves and retreated back to his room, falling into bed without even kicking his boots off.  There wasn't a way to tell how long he was asleep but it felt like he'd awakened too soon; groggily he rolled out of bed and straightened his clothing...then went to his wardrobe and changed into clean clothes (he really wanted a bath, but also didn't want to be caught unawares by anything or anyone while naked).  When he went looking for Brelyna he found her curled up in the pile of cushions in the sitting room with a few books stacked nearby -- for a brief moment he felt like an ass for not offering her the bed and taking the floor himself but she looked comfortable ensconced among the pillows and with her books so he let her be.  
  
Of course that left him still wondering what else he should be doing; after pacing the hall a bit (and listening carefully at Kestrel's door for any sign of movement) he went into the Hall of Mirrors and began to go through his usual exercises.  He didn't quite have enough energy or desire to get through all of them (it was going to take more than one nap to recover from all the torment Varea had put him through) but right as he was dropping down to sit against the wall he heard what he thought was Kestrel's door open.  
  
Or, what he HOPED was her door.  What he knew for certain was A door had opened in the hall.  
  
Clambering back to his feet Onmund quickly moved back to the doorway and stuck his head through; his spirits rose a bit to see that yes, it WAS Kestrel's door that was standing open but he couldn't see Kestrel herself, and as he took a step into the hallway he heard a yelp from Brelyna.  He broke into a run and skidded into the door frame of the sitting room where he could see Kestrel's hunched back and Brelyna's legs kicking out at the cadaverously thin mage.  
  
"Hey!  Stop!  Kestrel, wait-!"  
  
An invisible force blasted him out of the room; he hit the ground and rolled, landing almost upside down against the wall across from the door.  He quickly righted himself and hurried back into the room in time to see Kestrel rising from the floor; she looked awful - worse than she'd looked when he'd first met her - and as he watched she spun and in one motion lit the fireplace and tossed something into it that audibly splattered and then sizzled in the growing flames.  
  
Brelyna lay on the cushion pile where Onmund had found her before, and was silently crying and tightly gripping a bloodied area on her shoulder.  
  
\--in the same place Tolfdir and the others had had an injury.  
  
Onmund hurried over and fell beside her.  "Let me see, let me-"  
  
"Heal her up, apprentice," came Kestrel's gravely order.  "We've a lot of things to discuss."  
  
He managed to pry Brelyna's hands off her shoulder -- her robes were ripped open at the shoulder seam and he grimaced when he saw the palm-sized area of raw meat there. It looked like Kestrel had just cut out a wide circle of flesh but as Onmund began to heal the wound and the skin pulled together he could barely make out a whitish scar forming in its center that was...some kind of ugly, angular rune.  "What did you do?"  
  
"Removed the mark," came Kestrel's answer.  She staggered over to a chair (not her usual chair) before the fire and collapsed into it.  "Taking no chances.  She's clean and free now."  
  
Onmund nodded absently at that - there wasn't a reason to argue _against_ freeing Brelyna from any sort of magic of Varea's - and used the sleeve of his shirt to mop up some of the blood; once she was healed and had a moment to calm down Brelyna shot Kestrel an angry look.  
  
"You could have just explained what you were doing instead of grabbing me like that."  
  
Kestrel didn't move from where she sat with her head leaned back and mouth slightly open, and for a few breaths didn't even respond.  "...difficult to talk.  Not important enough to waste strength on."  
  
Onmund conjured a little globe of water and thrust his hands in, swishing around to clean the blood off before tossing the orb out toward the hall and drying his hands on his shirt; he then cautiously approached Kestrel, eying her up and down.  That softer, more alive look he'd seen on her corpse earlier was gone and she was even more gaunt than before, and her skin was a pasty white save for where it was tinged blue around her lips, eyes, and under her fingernails.  "...can I do anything to help you?" he asked quietly.  Again she didn't move, and he settled on the floor at her feet.  "Would healing magic help?"  
  
Kestrel very, very slowly shook her head.  "What helps I won't ask for.  Tell me everything."    
  
He winced a bit at her voice - the more she talked the more hoarse it grew.  "All right, just - I'll talk, you listen."  
  
"Start."  
  
He was faintly aware of Brelyna righting herself in the cushion pile, listening to him as he recounted how he'd awakened in the College, how Varea had initially introduced herself and then how everything had steadily gone downhill; he tried to gloss over the torture but didn't miss how Kestrel's jaw clenched when he'd mentioned it, and he was starting to go a little hoarse himself by the time he'd told the whole tale.  
  
For a time the only sound in the room was Kestrel's raspy breathing and the pop of the fire (the chunk of flesh had long since burned to ash), and Onmund remained at her feet waiting for an order, or...or something.  She looked ready to keel over even if her body seemed intact; whatever that coffin had done had restored her but she seemed so weak and fragile...he prayed it was only brief, only temporary, because if Kestrel was in no shape to handle Varea then he had no idea what they could hope to do.  
  
Finally, with some effort, she raised her head and then let it drop to her chest, fixing her gaze on Onmund.  "Did well.  Proud of you."  
  
He managed a small smile at the praise, but it quickly disappeared.  "You don't need to waste words on that.  Are you sure I can't help you?  Is there a spell I just don't know yet that could-"  
  
She managed to hold up a hand and he went quiet again at the gesture.  "Blood, apprentice.  Quickest.  But I refuse to take it.  Another few days, will recover."  
  
Blood...he should have thought of that.  She WAS a vampire after all.  "You just need blood?  That'll help you heal? How much blood?"  
  
She was already shaking her head.  "No."  
  
Suddenly Brelyna was standing behind him.  "Why not?  You're a vampire, don't you need blood to survive?"  
  
"Not technically," Onmund answered, before Kestrel did.  "They won't die without it.  ...but if you'll heal faster then why won't you take it?  I'm offering it - we have to get that crown back and a few days might be all she'd need to create a disaster," he went on, turning his attention back to Kestrel.  "I'm immortal, right?  It won't kill me."  
  
Kestrel fixed him with a glare.  "NOT immune to harm," she hissed, jabbing a bony finger into the middle of his forehead.  "Think, apprentice."  
  
"Then use us both?" Brelyna asked hesitantly.  "Take half of what you need from him, and half from me...unless, that'll somehow make us vampires too?"  
  
"No."  
  
"-does it have to be human or Mer blood?" he growled.  Her pointy, bony finger poking at him had hurt more than he'd expected.  "Can I go catch a deer or a goat and let you drain that?"  
  
Kestrel went quiet - he assumed she was thinking - but then shook her head again.  "Too risky.  Can't rely on 'what ifs.'  Can't rush into unknown situation."  
  
"But if we don't stop her-"  
  
She held up a hand again to silence him.  "Aware of risks.  Calculating best course for success.  I will not take your blood...too risky.  Accidentally turning you is a danger."  
  
He let out a frustrated sigh but didn't push it further; it wasn't like she'd suddenly decided against taking his blood and he definitely didn't want to wake up as a vampire one day...and yet for this one situation he thought the risk of turning was laughably lesser than the danger the crown posed.  
  
"Can I...can I bleed into something?" he asked -- this would be his last attempt to-  
  
"No.  Leave it.  Help me back."  
  
-that was about what he was expecting.  He stood and offered Kestrel a hand up out of the chair; her hands felt as dry as parchment and like a handful of twigs, but he lifted her up with little effort and let her lean on his as he led her back to the white coffin and helped her step inside.  The door swung shut on its own and when it had closed he breathed a sigh of relief that was shortlived as he wondered what sort of chaos and destruction Varea would sow while they waited for Kestrel to regain her strength.


	13. Chapter 13

Over the two days they'd thus far had to themselves Brelyna and Onmund carefully danced around the subject of 'what happens next?' and in Onmund's case he felt his thoughts had to be a lot...grimmer, darker, than anything Brelyna might be imagining. He had seen the crown and felt its allure - had felt it trying to ensnare him. He had an idea of what it did and could do, and the more he fretted over what Varea might be doing with it as they waited the more he thought of Cedrore.

Cedrore had already been at the College when Onmund arrived - already an Adept in fact, and because their schedules and skill level differed they'd rarely found time or a reason to speak to one another. He remembered the dark haired, slender Breton as a quiet man with a habit of fixating on things to such a degree that he could probably tune out a volcano erupting if what he was reading was important enough to him, and that he seemed to just absorb knowledge like a towel absorbed water. Onmund had been pretty certain that Cedrore was the Arch-Mage's favorite student even before the Eye of Magnus was discovered and many shared that opinion (albeit quietly, but not because of jealousy or out of malice...it was just...something that was, like the sun rising).

Because of the favoritism and trust that Cedrore enjoyed he had been the one tasked with locating and retrieving the Staff, and ultimately had been the one who took Ancano down. The problem was that Cedrore hadn't survived that battle; in those few moments between striking Ancano down and the others rushing into the hall he'd died of his injuries...too quickly to even explain where the Eye had disappeared to when they'd found him alone. The similarities between the danger of the Eye and the crown had Onmund wondering if he was destined to be the next Cedrore -- the hero who saves everyone but dies in the end.

Then again, why should he think he'd be the hero at all? Varea had sacrificed the others to empower herself and had "killed" Kestrel, what if she did that again? He imagined (or hoped) that Kestrel would have a plan to prevent that from happening a second time...but he wasn't Kestrel. He wasn't at that level of mastery, and maybe he wasn't even at Cedrore's relative skill level either. Varea could very likely kill him before he even got a spell off -- some hero he'd be then, right? 

But he knew Brelyna was correct in that he couldn't go into this already expecting to lose; it was just...he couldn't see himself as more than another soon-to-be casualty. Whatever came next was almost certainly going to hinge on Kestrel's power and have nothing to do with him, and while he could admit to himself that it would be best if he was simply an onlooker and stayed out of the way he hated the feeling of uselessness that came with it.

It took three more days before Kestrel emerged a second time; her illusions were in place and she looked like her "normal" self though Onmund could see a tension in her body language and a steely determination in her eyes when she'd looked him up and down (after startling him by barging into the sitting room where he'd been reading) and wordlessly gestured for him to follow her to one of the few remaining doors he'd never been through.

The door she went to appeared like the others - wood with bronze and iron bands, a latch, and no bigger or smaller than what you'd find in a normal home - but listening to it grind open he realized it was actually about six inches thick, was charged with magical energy, and that the latch was actually just for show: she touched the door in a few specific places to trigger the magical lock to release and then it took all of her weight to budge it. All the noise prompted Brelyna to poke her head out of the library and soon she was standing beside Onmund in the hall as they watched Kestrel push the door wide enough to allow them to enter; she disappeared into the darkness inside and Onmund followed a moment after, and was blinded when all the candles, lanterns, and a fireplace roared to life within it all in the same instant.

As he blinked the afterimages from his eyes the hair on his arms stood on end -- somewhere very nearby was a source of energy powerful enough that he could feel it without needing to search for it, and once his vision finally cleared he found himself standing in a very narrow and long room, lined to either side with racks of dusty weapons and armor interspersed with trunks and cabinets (and, of course, all the sconces and lanterns and the singular fireplace)...it looked very much like an armory - one he hadn't sensed from outside the room - and as he stepped further inside he suspected that most (if not everything) here had to have once belonged to Kestrel's apprentices as he noted the varying sizes and styles of the objects inside here.

From behind him he heard Brelyna's voice "what IS all of this?" and he waited to hear Kestrel's answer; for a long moment there was no response -- Kestrel was quickly striding to the far end of the room (this room felt more like a hallway than the actual hallway did) and was grabbing pouches and satchels as she went.

And then, "apprentice - find something that fits."

"...what?" came his bewildered response. He looked again at all of the armor around him -- most of what was here were...really, really fancy, really fortified-looking robes, though he did see a few scattered pieces of what he guessed was chainmail, and a single platemail shoulder guard. "You can't be serious."

She stopped to fix him with a chilling glare and he decided that maybe it'd be best to listen to her and hurried to look over the armor that lined the walls; robes would probably have the best chance of fitting him - they could be tucked, folded, or cinched to adjust for size - and the material of the armor didn't matter much when it was raw magic coming at you.

...well, maybe it were a conjured blade then it'd make a difference, since that was both magic as well as a physical aspect, but he doubted that Varea or anyone else would bother getting into close range with him.

He found a set of armor that seemed to be a combination of cloth and leather - it had a sort of hood and half cape that covered the left shoulder and part of the thick, stiff chest piece, with the lower half an open wrap over studded leather pants, and the boots that matched (which looked too small) even had metal caps on the toes. It was an equal balance of warrior, mage, and a lighter touch of a scout's leathers, and the craftsmanship on it was such a high quality that he felt awkward even looking at it -- this sort of thing wasn't for mere apprentices, this was the regalia of some kind of...of...war mage.

When Kestrel noticed he'd stopped in front of that set she left off what she was doing and came over to begin removing it from its stand.

"I - wait, this- I'm not a fighter."

"You've been taught how."

"What am I supposed to do against someone who defeated you?"

Kestrel scoffed and grabbed him by the collar, jerking him around to stand more in the center of the aisle that ran down the middle of the room. "You will not be handling her, I will. Now do I have to dress you like a child or merely handle the straps once you've got it on?"

That made him feel only marginally better; he began to pull the armor on and found that it wasn't quite large enough but wasn't so uncomfortable that he couldn't wear it (and the rest of the robes and gear here definitely looked too small for him - if only the apprentice that had come before him had had armor...Onmund WAS wearing his clothing after all, and while it was slightly too big he'd rather have it loose than it being this tight). Kestrel loosened all the straps as much as she could and helped tuck the pants into the tops of his boots (he _definitely_ could not wear the too-small footwear), then made him spin in a circle once it was all on.

Onmund had felt odd looking at the armor before but wearing it was...he wanted to describe it as "mind expanding" but that seemed too grandiose. What he DID know for certain was this gear was heavily enchanted and he felt fortified, energized, and strangely secure in it even though it was somewhat ill-fitting, and the energized sensation increased when he pulled the hood up.

"Who did this belong to?" he asked; he looked down at himself and flexed his fingers -- it was such an odd feeling wearing this. Onmund glanced back to Brelyna then and felt his ears grow warm at the look of admiration and curiosity on her face. 

"An old mentor of mine," Kestrel answered. Seemingly satisfied (and completely ignoring the look of amazement on Onmund's face) she went back to gathering pouches and the like before heading down the far end of the room. "He'd be tickled pink to know I'd kept it all this time AND that it's still functional. He made it himself," she explained further, glancing back to him briefly with the first smile he'd seen on her face since she'd re-emerged from her coffin. "The entirety of my base knowledge of enchanting came from him, and you'd have been amazed to watch the man sew."

As he watched (and very carefully stretched and shifted about to see if he could stretch out the leather and fabric some) Kestrel opened a cabinet and removed a layered set of robes that, as she sorted the pieces and let them drop to a table, thudded loudly against the wood; when she shook them out and started to pull them on the fabric folded and caught in oddly defined patches -- were those metal plates sewn into padded pockets? That's definitely what it looked like.

"What's our plan, then?" Onmund asked after a pause (he politely waited until she had her head pushed through the neck of some kind of padded undershirt).

"I will handle Varea, and YOU-" she said, emphasizing the word as she looked to him, "-will make certain no one gets close enough for her to claim their souls and empower herself again. I've no doubt in my mind that she'll be a difficult opponent with just the crown and her own wits but I've no intention of letting her pull her little trick a second time and add more bodies to the pile. --where DID you put those bodies?" she asked after a breath.

Brelyna answered before he did. "-down in the lower level, in those empty coffins. What about me? What should I do?"

Kestrel didn't even bother to look at her. "Stay as far away from the fighting as possible...if you've been taught the same things Onmund was then you won't stand a chance - you're just a corpse that's still upright so far as I'm concerned."

"But-" Brelyna started, looking insulted. She immediately paused when Kestrel fixed her with a glare. "-I want to help," she went on a second later.

"That's a fine and noble sentiment to have but believe me child, you're ridiculously under-trained and outclassed," Kestrel replied in her usual matter-of-fact tone. "A will to help won't make up for a lack of skill and training and I don't want you becoming a distraction to my apprentice. You're lucky you're still alive to begin with."

A silence fell then and a thought occurred to Onmund. "-Kestrel...why didn't you kill me when I was taken out of here?"

Again there was quiet save for a soft rattling noise of the buckles as Kestrel methodically strapped her robes in place. "--well, to be honest, Onmund... _I tried._ It seems there's a limit to the range of my spell - just another little variable I wasn't aware of, much like how the tether between us sent my soul to your body and disrupted centuries of recovery spells already in place."

He winced at that -- he supposed it wasn't all THAT surprising, but he'd hoped... "Oh. Well...ah... I mean, I feel I should be mad but..." He trailed off, sighing heavily. "--COULD you tell the spell was being messed with?"

"That I could, and believe me, when I realized that I couldn't trigger it from a distance I was determined to retrieve you, however... I couldn't leave the crown unguarded, and once she had you the attacks on my defenses increased. I suspect she might have had those in her sway helping her with that as they were near-constant with wildly varying degrees of finesse to them." She cinched her sash into place and a belt over that, and then began to sort through the pouches and satchels she'd gathered, clipping some onto her belt and sorting the contents of others into different containers. "...I know how...coldhearted it sounds. I really do. And if it makes you feel any better I cried over it. Here I was, in the worst possible position: unable to kill to keep the secret of the crown, unable to leave to save my apprentice. Poised to lose no matter what I did. If I could have snatched you back - and that IS the first thing I tried - I would have..."

She trailed off, shoulders slumping, then looked over to him. "I have no desire to lose another apprentice to this damned thing. I despise being in the position to even make that choice. Whatever you might think of me, Onmund...know that I highly value you, as I have all the others. I don't make the choices that I do lightly. And I am genuinely proud that you did not break under the pressure."

For a moment he just stared - the praise gave him a funny feeling in his stomach...not quite embarrassment, not quite pride. "I did what you taught me to do."

"I know. That is why I'm proud."

He felt his face warming and knew he was tinging red, and quickly cleared his throat. "So...what's our plan?"

"As I've said I will handle Varea and the crown and you will keep everyone else at bay."

"That's...not really a plan."

"Until I actually determine what we're up against I can't give you a plan, Onmund. And no plan survives contact with an enemy so even if I DID have one it's not likely to work. You're well trained and your job is to save lives while mine is to end one...that's as best as I can do."

"All right. And, Kestrel...when we get it back, and destroy it, can we get out of this hole in the ground?"

She slowly turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. "...don't let idle day dreams of the future distract you from the present, apprentice. One step at a time."

Onmund managed a weak smile. "I know. It's just better to look at the positive side, right? We can't go into this expecting to lose, and having a goal in mind at the very least makes it seem worthwhile." 

It was then that Brelyna stepped back up beside him, eying everything around them. "-if I can't help then what should I do?"

"Well, you could stay down here and risk starving to death if something should happen to us both and you aren't able to climb out, OR you can return to the surface with us and find somewhere to hide far, far from the fighting and someone will go retrieve you eventually."

"I'll...find somewhere to hide that isn't here," Brelyna said after a pause.

"Wise," Kestrel muttered. 

She ushered the two of them back into the hall then returned to what she was doing; Onmund kept stretching and tugging at the armor, finding that easier to focus on that what they were inevitably going to be heading into soon. The plan they had wasn't much of one and it occurred to him that she'd said his part in this was to keep the others out of Varea's reach...if only he'd found a book about portals before now then maybe he could dump everyone into a hold's jail and call it a day.

The thought was just amusing enough to chuckle over and he feared that this one stupid thought might be the last thing he ever laughed about.


	14. Chapter 14

Something like storm clouds hung thick and low over Winterhold, almost hiding the College's top-most towers from view entirely. The air was electrified, oppressive, and to Onmund it "stank" of something terrible...he couldn't describe it as more than a stench that set him on edge - a sign that things weren't at all right here.

If it bothered Kestrel she didn't show it and instead she strode fearlessly through the ankle-deep snow toward a ring of guards and what looked like a few scattered "adventurer" types that were blocking the road into the town.

"Halt right there, traveler-"

Kestrel merely gestured at the guard that had stepped forward to meet them and he, and several of the others behind him, slid apart and cleared a space for her to move through.

"You can't go in there!"

"-I promise we're here to stop it," Onmund said quickly as he hurried through the gap behind Kestrel and tried to ignore the shouting guards and their grasping hands.

The College had never seemed so...ominous. Sure, it had seemed huge and imposing the first time he'd crossed the bridge but now with the storm clouds and the gloom and knowing what was inside it he just... It had once been home and now it wasn't, and he found himself missing the cozy little hole in the ground he'd only an hour earlier had asked to leave. He hoped there was something still worth saving inside - he especially hoped that the people who remained could be saved...he had no desire to slaughter his prior teachers but if it came down to his or their survival there was really only one choice to make.

...sort of like Kestrel's own choices regarding him, and now he understood exactly how awful it felt to consider them.

When they reached the bridge Kestrel sent some sort of arcing, blueish white light racing across it ahead of them; it traced over the stone of the bridge rapidly and halfway across it splattered like paint across a barrier that had previously been invisible.

"Predictable and not at all surprising," she muttered. Whatever it was wasn't enough to deter her from stepping onto the bridge and beginning to walk; Onmund followed close on her heels until they were both standing in front of the marked barrier. "Shield your eyes, this will be bright."

He pulled part of his hood over his face and closed his eyes; because he couldn't watch he had no idea what Kestrel did but a few breaths later a flash went off followed by a dull sound like far off thunder, and when he cautiously peeked he saw that the paint-like splatter of Kestrel's spell was gone and, as Kestrel moved forward freely, so was the barrier. 

That they hadn't been challenged by anything other than the guards had him worried (and those guards he suspected were there to protect those they could, not because they were under Varea's control). He wished he felt as fearless and determined as Kestrel appeared as the entrance to the College loomed before them; he could just spy the statue on the far side of the courtyard through the doorway and could make out the shadows of bustling figures moving back and forth in front of it.

A chill far worse than the snow swirling around them settled in his gut; this was it. This was...IT - the actual, final fight. They'd either win or die here.

Kestel walked in ahead of him; in the courtyard beneath the statue's gaze was a milling group of College members as well as a few faces Onmund recognized from Winterhold, and it seemed like a fair amount of the guards were here now too...little wonder that the guards they'd passed had wanted to stop them from entering the town. In eerie unison they turned to face Onmund and Kestrel, hands going to weapons and spells being readied -- there was no sign of Varea herself but Onmund knew all these people were under her control and that she no doubt knew they were here.

"Well...color me surprised."

\--yes, Varea definitely knew they were here; her voice echoed through the courtyard and those gathered there moved in to cluster closer together and form a human wall between Kestrel and Onmund and the Hall of Elements beyond.

"Apprentice..."

Onmund looked to Kestrel; the skin around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth tightened slightly and it was the only warning he had before the air around them grew thick with energies. She said a word - one he didn't recognize - and for a brief moment the air seemed to crystallize around them and time seemed to slow, then with a sharp crack the air 'shattered' and sent everyone but himself and Kestrel to the ground flat on their backs as the door into the Hall ripped free and shot inward.

"No one but me gets through there," was all she said then, breaking into a jog toward the far door and leaping over the groaning people. 

He shook himself free of the mild awe he'd felt at the spell's display and hurried to follow before planting his feet in the ruined doorway and turning to glance back at the others.

He counted...fifteen - no, sixteen people standing in front of him: seven were College members (and he felt his stomach twist at that) and the rest were enthralled guards from town. While he imagined he could just block the doorway with something (maybe meld the stone inward to make it impossible to squeeze through) that meant that HE wouldn't be able to get through it if Kestrel, for whatever reason, decided she needed his help, AND he had his doubts that he could do something like that before all these people rushed him...

Until he'd subdued everyone he wouldn't get a chance to block off this doorway. What could he do that would be safe enough...wind? Water? If only he knew how to put magical barriers around things...he sincerely did not want to hurt these people but knew they wouldn't be thinking the same of him, and he'd been instructed to hold this entry point -- Onmund could not let anyone get by him but knew that if things turned too violent he'd inevitably be forced to make that "them or me" choice...

"If you're in there...fight it," he said then, disappointed in the slight tremble to his voice. "I don't want to hurt you, I'm here to help free you."

One of the guards pulled a bow from her back and nocked an arrow, taking aim and drawing.

He huffed out a sigh - it's not that he'd actually expected that to work but he at least felt better that he'd tried it - and raised his wards around him, hearing the soft 'tink' noise of the arrow striking stone off to his left after it deflected off the swirling shield around him.

That single arrow shot was like a dam breaking, a signal to the others to all rush forward and send a dizzying barrage of arrows and spells at him. Onmund's ward flickered briefly as his focus slipped; he could trust in his ward theoretically all he wanted but actually seeing all that damage coming his way was far more intimidating than he could've imagined on his own...but, it held. He held. And he rapidly backpedaled to avoid the incoming swing of a blade and used his free hand to slam a gust of wind into that guard's gut that propelled the man backward to crash into Drevis behind him (and the spell Drevis had readied fizzled into nothingness as the two hit the ground in a tangled heap of limbs).

'Focus...I need to focus. That's what will win this,' he began to chant over and over in his mind as he deflected two more arrows, a fireball, and a bolt of lightning. Again he threw a few people aside with a blast of wind and maneuvered himself back in front of the shattered doorway.

Focus focus focus... Just think of this as another sparring session -- a session that didn't have Kestrel in it; those afternoons they'd spent together training him how to fight and defend himself had switched between what he'd call "vigorous review" and terrifying moments when Kestrel threw something new at him without warning. This was just...this was no different, right? This was a training session and nothing more, and the only difference was Kestrel wasn't his opponent this time.

As that thought sank in it bolstered his confidence some:

_These people I'm fighting aren't Kestrel - they weren't trained by her and they don't know what she's taught me._

_I'm armed with HER lessons...I can do this._

He sent a lightning bolt crashing into the floor between his toes and knocked a guard from their feet with a strong gush of water fired from his palm; in the same smooth motion he shifted and turned, guiding the water spell in a wide arc in front of him and following it up with the frigid frost spell -- the ground around him began to shine and shimmer as icy patches formed, and as Drevis stepped forward to cast at him again Onmund pushed him back onto one of the patches and smiled faintly as the man's feet shot out from under him.

An arrow whistled by his head then - it skimmed across the top edge of his ward and he hadn't even noticed was being aimed at him; there were three guards standing behind the others with bows in hand, firing at him as quickly as they could nock and draw. 

The arrows weren't a problem, technically - none of them could hope to get through his warding shield alone, but continued assault would eventually wear him down (as it did take magicka and concentration to constantly deflect things aside) -- he set his feet, ducked a sword swing and elbowed another guard in the head, then thrust his hands out and sent a wave of fire from both hands that scattered everyone ahead of him. In the opening he'd created he sent a shower of small icicles at the guards at the back and was satisfied when he saw one of the bowstrings snap (he hadn't actually intended to do that - it was an exceptionally lucky happenstance) and the three quit firing at him as they struggled to shield themselves with their arms and hands held up around their heads.

Suddenly J'zargo was on top of him; in one hand he held a readied fire spell of some kind and the other shoved a hand around the ward to claw at his shoulder. Onmund hissed as the claws shredded the sleeve over his bicep and bit deeply into the muscle, and partly out of pain and partly out of simple surprise the wind gust he struck the khajiit with lifted the male off his feet and propelled him ten feet away before he hit the ground; he winced at the loud and meaty thud as his friend struck the ground and rolled along the stone, and then he felt a surge of guilt as the khajiit lay there unmoving.

There wasn't more than a split instant to worry about how badly he'd hurt him before two of the guards and Drevis were after him again, with Nirya circling to flank him on his left. He was forced to duck quickly under the swing of a warhammer but then tumbled backward as the other guard kicked out and hit his shoulder; Onmund threw himself into the roll to try and make as much use of the sudden momentum as he could and narrowly avoided the blast of lightning that hit where he'd been standing a moment prior. He rolled up onto a knee and then was immediately tackled by one of the guards and he felt a sudden, sharp pain in the meat of his side a breath later.

Seeing no other alternative (Onmund was fairly certain he had a blade in his hip that had been meant for his ribs) he electrified the air around him and released it in an abrupt burst; the guard was thrown off him, shrieking, and the boom of lightning sent Nirya flying backward to roll along the ground with her robes smoking. The other guard that had been standing there seemed to hesitate at the display which gave Onmund time to rip the dagger out of his side and press a hand to the wound, sending in a surge of restoring magics that took the edge off the pain and slowed the bleeding -- he knew it wasn't enough to fully close the stab but he didn't have the time needed as now he was staring down three guards, Phinis, and Urag, all coming at him in a semi-circle.

His roll earlier had taken him away from the doorway he was supposed to be blocking but no one here seemed intent on following Kestrel through it; everyone seemed very determined to kill him right now, which...on one hand he supposed was a good thing as he'd technically be following Kestrel's order no matter where he chose to stand in the courtyard. On the other hand...sixteen people all trying to kill him -- sixteen people he was determined NOT to kill, who would ultimately win out through wearing him down and eventually overwhelming him unless he could figure out how to safely stop them. He could somewhat control how many of them could cluster around him at once by keeping close to the wall but that was about all he control in this situation with any real certainty, and he had no idea on what would be "safe" enough to stop their attacks, even if just briefly. 

Quickly he scanned the room over the shoulders of those closing in on him. J'Zargo still was face down in the floor - Onmund doubted he'd killed him but he'd definitely knocked him out cold; if he could just...do that again fifteen more times he'd be fine. Probably. He'd definitely be more "fine" than he was now if he could knock even just a few more out...ugh, but that was so risky -- it would be so easy to accidentally kill someone.

Maybe...maybe it wouldn't take Kestrel all that long to stomp Varea flat into the floor. Sure she'd been taken by surprise before and defeated but she'd walked into this fight with a high confidence, and Onmund assumed that so long as he kept the others out of Varea's reach that she couldn't do whatever it was she'd done before that had bested his master. Keeping everyone busy here meant they weren't able to be used elsewhere...he just needed to stay alive longer than Varea did, that was all.

He grit his teeth and fell into a sort of...flow. Anyone who came close was shoved back by wind or blasted in the face with a gush of water; for the mages and those persistent bow-wielding guards in the back he threw weakened lightning and fire at them to keep them scattered and off-balance. When more than two or three rushed him at once it was entirely instinct that shifted his feet and moved his body to stay out of the range of their swords and maces; for a moment Onmund had the bizarre wish that this fight was taking place in the Hall of Mirrors back home -- he moved and ducked and weaved his way among everyone with a grace he wouldn't have imagined he was capable of before...he'd always felt like a heavy-footed clod struggling to stay ahead of Kestrel in their sparring sessions but again he had to remind himself that these people were NOT her, and he wished he could watch just to confirm to himself that yes: he WAS battling fifteen people at one time and they hadn't immediately killed him.

...'immediately,' he had to admit, was the key word of that thought. He was rapidly tiring, and even though he was weaving in bursts of restorative magic between his offensive spells it was approaching the point where he'd need more strength than he could muster just to keep going. He needed to stop this...but he still hadn't figured out how.

Well. Maybe he had.

His defensive little war-dance had taken him clear across the courtyard and the doorway that led back to the bridge was at his back; it occurred to him that if he could lead everyone across the bridge (assuming they'd follow) that he could lead them back to those guards guarding the road that lead into Winterhold and could get their assistance in subduing everyone, or at the very least the narrow bridge would limit the amount of...well, everything, that could come in his direction at one time. That would considerably cut down on the amount of power needed to keep up this fight AND it would also further remove everyone from Varea's reach.

It was probably the best and only choice he had.

He began to slowly shuffle backward -- he couldn't turn around and run and leave himself open to an attack, and backing up too quickly ran the risk of tripping over his own feet; with a grunt Onmund used the palm of a hand to strengthen his ward against a warhammer's glancing blow, then guided the same sustained burst of magicka up to send a fireball slamming into the stone above him. In the shower of sparks he finally felt the wind shift and tug against his shoulders - he was to the doorway itself and the wind outside howled through the opening.

Quite suddenly that persistent feeling of "wrongness" he'd had ever since he'd laid eyes on the College intensified, and a weird feeling settled into his gut; the air stilled - even the howling wind - as well as those he was luring with him toward the bridge. Into the silence came a crackling noise of ice on stone followed immediately by the sound of liquid draining out of something, and along with that noise came a pulling sensation that seemed to be pulling him back into the courtyard.

He set his feet and looked around in confusion -- what in the world was going on? A surge of fear shot through him as his boots began to slide against the stone; leaning back from the suction Onmund struggled to pinpoint where it was coming from or what it even was -- it was a small comfort that everyone else seemed as confused as he was and for a moment their constant attacks stalled.

Then, the air exploded.

Or so it seemed.

A lot of jumbled images hit Onmund's mind all at once: he seemed to recall a flash of ice-white and blue that traced through the bricks around the doorway that Kestrel had ripped the door from; the statue in the courtyard was blasted from its pedestal and crashed into the wall beside him, showering him in hundreds of sharp stone slivers and many larger pieces that pummeled his ward and by some miracle did not take him off his feet; all those who had been attacking him were crawling their way towards the walls, cowering...but cowering from wh-

A terror-inducing, ear-splitting roar sounded; Onmund's eyes widened as he watched helplessly as two enormous clawed hands reached through the far doorway and ripped it wider, seemingly with no effort, and moment later a nightmare pushed its head into the room.

He had no idea what it was or words to describe it; it was some...towering... _thing._ Its hands were easily the size of his torso, four fingers to each that were tipped with shiny black talons that, as the creature thrust itself further into the room, left deep grooves in the stone. It's skin was an ashen gray with darker mottled, wart-looking spots across its shoulders, arms, and down its legs; the beast's chest was the width of six men easily, its legs the size of tree trunks, and it had spikes on its shoulders and a pair of ebony horns that sat above a triangular head that was entirely too much mouth and teeth.

Its beady, white-blue eyes met Onmund's gaze and its wide nostrils flared. It flexed and launched itself forward on its massive legs, landing fully into the courtyard and now Onmund could see a tail lined with spines and tipped with a heavy black claw; as it landed on the ground the entire College shook and he flailed and grabbed at the doorway next to him to stay on his feet. It raised itself to its full height and let out another bellow of challenge - it stood taller than the statue had!

_What...in the world...is THAT?_


	15. Chapter 15

For what felt like an eternity Onmund's feet were frozen to the ground in terror; whatever this thing was he'd...he had no name for it, he'd never seen even a sketch of it before, and he was fairly certain he'd never heard a warning tale about anything like this beast. There was no knowledge in his head regarding it and he had even less of a clue on what to do now than he had previously -- for a wild moment he prayed this was a bad dream, that someone had hit him with some sort of hallucination spell...but, no, everyone else was pressed to the walls and on their knees (whether it was actual terror or deference on their part was anyone's guess).

The ground began to shake again as the creature stalked toward him; Onmund was several steps out the door and onto the bridge before his mind registered that he'd actually moved, and in a split instant decision he turned and ran. There was another roar behind him and the shaking of the ground intensified as the beast picked up speed to chase him, and he heard the explosion of stone as it simply plowed through the doorway and stomped after him; the bridge beneath him vibrated and thudded with each step, and with a crackling noise that sent his stomach plummeting out through the soles of his feet he realized that the bridge wasn't as structurally sound as everyone thought (or pretended) -- when the massive storm that had crashed into the mainland - that had sent most of the city of Winterhold collapsing into the sea - only the College had truly weathered it, and despite repairs the bridge had always been missing bricks and chunks (at least for as long as Onmund had been here, anyway). He'd always assumed that it was just cosmetic damage that they'd never bothered to mend but now...with all the weight of this creature on the structure he could feel beneath his boots how the stone was beginning to rattle and shift, punctuated with cracks and popping noises.

He spent a single instant to scan the bridge below him and confirmed what he'd desperately hoped was not the case mere seconds before the stone under him started to tilt backward and give way.

If he'd had more time he was relatively certain he could have stopped the collapse; Kestrel had taught him how to meld and shape stone, and he could have simply fused everything around him together (at the very least, fused it together long enough for him to get OFF it). With a noise that was half grunt, half whimper, Onmund launched himself forward and scrabbled for any handhold he could wedge his fingers into as even more of the bridge beneath him began to crumble away.

A shadow passed over his head and he looked up in horror as the creature sailed over him to land on a section of the bridge ahead of the part that was crumbling, and its massive sudden weight shattered the rapidly weakening stone; immediately Onmund's handhold snapped loose and began to fall. 

The creature was falling too now but by some small miracle they were too far apart for it to reach him with its talons; that massive mouth opened and a gout of flame washed over him however and in the same breath he raised his ward and sent the strongest rush of wind into the heart of the flames to try and divert them around his falling form. The flames encircled him and roared around the ward, and the wind gust had the added benefit of blowing him backwards and even further away from the terrifying beast.

It also spun him around and he could see the ground so very far below and rapidly approaching, but he could ALSO see a snow-covered ledge that was on the way down as well. A fall from the full height would absolutely kill him but if he could hit that ledge, maybe-

Onmund let the ward drop and frantically sent a blast of air out of both hands - one off to the side to propel him toward the ledge and one at the ledge to hopefully slow his descent. He didn't seem to slow but he did move in the air, and slammed into the ledge and into darkness as the snowdrift there swallowed his unconscious form.

\----------------

The snow was stained bright red in places and there was a man-sized hole in the crust about ten feet above his head. Breathing was nigh impossible - every lungful was agonizing and there was a disconcerting bubbling noise in his throat each time he inhaled. Neither leg seemed to want to obey his commands to move but he was...mostly convinced they weren't broken, just very badly banged up, and he WAS convinced his left arm had shattered.

All around him were steep walls made of white snow and he'd certainly compacted quite of a bit of it beneath him when he'd landed; the cold was seeping in and he was very tired -- that the huge monster was probably still out there was only a distant worry in his mind right now. He would need to climb or burrow out of here but just didn't have the strength to do so...and trying to mend himself up also proved to be more than he had the will to do.

Cedrore came to mind again -- he wondered how the man had felt as he'd lay there dying. Alone. Had he truly known, in that exact moment, that was the end? Onmund couldn't really tell if he was dying or not, he was just...tired. Done. He didn't want to move or think anymore -- not so much a desire to let go as a desire to stop existing briefly, to give himself time to sort out his thoughts, his emotions, and to examine this pathetic shell of a body and see for himself if he was able to be saved.

It took an immense effort just to roll over from his side fully onto his back to stare up at the gloomy sky, and somewhere in the distance he heard a bellow.

...so the beast HAD survived the fall too. It just seemed so unfair.

It was a small comfort that it didn't sound anywhere near him but he pitied whoever came across it -- the guards that remained in Winterhold were too few in number now to stand any chance of defeating it... It was an end for many things, not just his own.

He let his eyes droop shut. 

_Please just let Kestrel win._

For a time he lay there, acutely aware of the chill seeping into his very being. He heard and felt nothing - even the pain was receding beneath the cold's effects; if this was his time at least he would go peacefully. That was a nice thought.

"Get up apprentice - you are needed."

Onmund's eyes fluttered open again -- he'd heard a voice and it took a few moments to latch on to what he'd heard. A man's voice, telling him to get up; it had called him apprentice, just like Kestrel did...but it wasn't her voice or the voice of anyone he recognized.

Above him the sky seemed brighter -- had Kestrel won? Maybe she'd won and someone had come looking for him.

As he watched the brightness of the sky narrowed and formed into a point - an orb of light; it was a soothing light blue and he watched it curiously -- what was it? Why was it here? A silhouette of an arm materialized in its glow then and Onmund felt the snow around shift and draw in close to his body. He had a fear that the snow was somehow going to collapse in and crush him but instead it flowed under him and began to gently lift him back up toward the hole in the crust above; the closer he came to the light the brighter it grew, searing his eyes and leaving bright afterimages that soon blinded him, and by the time he could feel the harsh winds of Winterhold on his face he had his eyes squeezed shut.

A rush of warmth filled him, and he opened his eyes to see the bright blue of the light mingling with the familiar golden glow of restorative magics; for a long moment he eyed the swirling lights in confusion then noticed that in the heart of the light there was a man standing there.

His hooded robes hung open and were a slightly darker gold than the magics he wielded, with red and silver designs at the sleeves, along the hem, and across the epaulets he wore. His clothing beneath the robes were muted grays with a wide cream-colored sash belted together with an odd buckle -- it sort of reminded him of the shape of the dragon's head that he'd seen long ago under Saarthal, and there was a brilliant blue gem set in its center.

The man was an Altmer with a thin face partly hidden by his hood that betrayed no emotion as he looked Onmund over.

As the cold left him he felt strength surging back into him -- it wasn't much but it was leaps and bounds more than what he'd had only moments ago and with each passing breath (he could breathe again!) he felt better. "Who are you?" Onmund managed to ask. 

"An ally. You must be in place to assist your master when the time comes. Do you understand?"

A spike of pain shot through his head and just as quickly disappeared; seemingly floating in the middle of all this restoration magic was doing wonders for him overall but each time a new injury mended itself by snapping back into place he felt a jolt of pain that made him sick to his stomach. "I... I under...understand THAT. But I don't understand who you are."

The man eyed him silently a moment, expression never changing. "-we guided your companion to success before. I had a feeling it was too soon to turn our attention from your College however. The others despise me for my direct action but it bothers them more that I was correct twice about such dire circumstances."

"Wait - you knew Cedrore?"

"It was I who guided him in staving off total disaster."

Onmund stared at him as a sudden chilling thought came to him at the man's words - Cedrore had had outside help...was that why the Archmage had tasked him with so much? And if this man had guided Cedrore... "You... You stole the Eye and let him die, didn't you?"

A flicker of something - it was too quick to identify - crossed the elf's features. "His death was not intentional. But, knowing who your master is I'm sure she's instilled in you the depressing reality of making choices based on priority."

"-what happened? Where's the Eye? _Who are you?"_

"My name is Quaranir, of the Psijic Order. We will not meet again so there is no need for further introduction. All that concerns you is being in the correct place at the correct time."

"But-"

The altmer cut him off with a sharp gesture, then craned his neck to look upward. "What remains here will be contained - you must hurry down the coastline. You will know what you must do when you are where you are meant to be."

The blue orb floated over to come to a rest in the man's outstretched palm and the light it gave off began to steadily increase; Onmund was forced to again shield his eyes from the glare, and as he squeezed his eyes shut he heard a final "and tell your master the debt is considered paid" from the altmer before he was plunged into the darkness behind his own eyelids.

Cautiously Onmund opened his eyes and found himself standing alone off to the side of where he'd fallen into the snowdrift; he was very slowly sinking into the snow - it was halfway up his calves already - and yet there weren't even footprints to suggest where the altmer man had been or where he'd gone.

His wounds were closed, his arm and ribs mended. He was still exhausted but was no longer on the brink of death, and was greatly confused as to what had just happened along with feeling a bit of anger toward the man who'd admitted he'd allowed Cedrore to die. Had that Quaranir USED Cedrore? Used him to obtain the Eye? For what purpose? The thought of some other overwhelming threat somewhere in the world turned his stomach but the man's other words echoed in his mind: Kestrel needed him, and that some debt between her and...the man? The aforementioned Psijic Order? Whoever the debt was actually attached to, the man had said it was paid...Onmund had no idea what that might mean but he did understand clearly that he needed to find Kestrel and do whatever it was that was required of him to help her end this.

It took him ages to climb down to the ice-and-mud covered beach; he saw the massive craters caused by the falling pieces of the bridge above, as well as the crater where the giant creature had landed and clawed its way out of. There were tracks that led away and to the northwest and as Onmund glanced that way his eyes widened at the carnage along the beach.

\--it wasn't just the creature's giant footprints here: there were scorch marks, frozen pillars, places where the sand had been blasted away in a shower of glass shards, glowing places where a spell had struck and seared itself into the ground. A tremendous amount of magicka imbued the place as well and it burned a bright path in Onmund's mind heading northwest -- standing and focusing himself he could make out a much thinner path of residual magicka that wound its way down the cliffs behind the College and curled around the rocky shore until it reached here and veered away.

Kestrel and Varea had no doubt fought through this area and kept going; Onmund began to plod forward along the beach, fighting with each step as the mud and sand sucked him down. Trudging through this magicka-infused area had its benefits though -- with each step taken the magicka rushed to fill him until his head was buzzing, and he began to fill himself with restoration magics to burn some of it off only to have it rush to fill that void again. His skin felt hot and almost vibrating, and he had the urge to take off at a run just to rid himself of this overly-empowered feeling.

He it was difficult but tried to ignore it; any additional power he could pull upon would only benefit him.

...well, not JUST him. If HE felt this then he'd no doubt Kestrel and Varea would be drawing from everything they were suspending and infusing into the land even in the midst of what looked to be a frightening high-skilled battle between two master mages; the further he went the more destruction he came across - there were holes in the ground filling with water, cliffsides were demolished and laying in piles of rubble, and there were more scorch marks and spots of glass as well as frozen patches here and there (Onmund used one of the bigger, thicker ones to cross one of the newly created "ponds").

The magicka path led him to the edge of the beach where, across a channel that looked to be about twenty feet wide (and who knew how deep) was an imposing island made of one very towering, sheer mountain crag. They'd crossed from here...to there...and around to the opposite side, it felt.

Swimming in water this cold would easily kill him and even wading (assuming it was shallow enough) would be just as terrible an idea; pulling from the magicka around him Onmund began to freeze the channel over. It didn't take as long as he thought it would (all this excess power in the air definitely helped) and soon he was carefully striding across and stepping off the ice onto a very narrow stretch of sand at the base of the crag, turning to circle around to its north side.

The wind was beginning to blow and on the horizon over the sea Onmund could see a storm coming in; as he picked his way among the driftwood it began to snow and the weather rapidly worsened as the storm rushed in on him. In the swirling white he could make out a tall and claustrophobic pass between the crag he'd seen from the other shore and yet another tall and pointy crag. He hurried away from the churning seawater and ducked into the shelter of the pass, shaking snow from himself and catching his breath.

The crumbling of rocks from above was the only warning he had before the creature dropped down on him. Its massive bulk was stopped short from completely flattening him by the narrow rocky walls but it was close enough to swing its tail down and catch Onmund from head to thighs, sending him flying further into the pass to land awkwardly on his back between two large stones. All the air was blasted from his lungs and he blindly scrabbled to stand as the monster leaped from its perch to land off to Onmund's right; the ground was slick with ice here and a second after he got his feet under him they shot out and dumped him onto his backside, sending him sliding backwards down an incline behind him that he hadn't noticed was there in his panic.

Onmund twisted as he slid and landed in ankle-deep water on his hands and knees, growling as his fingers immediately went numb at the chill. He launched himself off the balls of his feet and across the shallow pool, finding himself sprinting up the steps to a stone platform on which a statue to Talos stood -- a forgotten, lonely shrine on an island in the sea. He would have been pleased to find it if the circumstances were different but at the moment it gave him solid ground to stand and fight on (and if Talos saw fit to help a poor mortal fighting at his feet, all the better).

The creature was charging down the incline after him and Onmund was grimly pleased to see it too was sliding on the ice-slicked stone. In a surge of inspiration Onmund fired a (admittedly overpowered) spray of frost over the tide pool; the top layer immediately froze and the creature slipped down to a knee on its first step onto it, and then the ice cracked under its weight. It gave Onmund the wild idea of luring it out into the sea on ever-thinning ice, but then that would leave HIM stranded (or worse: it would dump him into the water too).

The monster was quickly recovering from its slip and rather than slide across the ice it was dragging its taloned feet to shatter it with each step; Onmund sent several bolts of lightning at it and frowned when it didn't slow the beast in the slightest. He sent an icicle (it deflected off the hide) and then a few fireballs (that also deflected and didn't even leave a mark) and the creature still kept coming; there HAD to be some way to keep this thing slowed down and away from him if his magic wasn't strong enough to even scratch it.

_Think Onmund...THINK._

He ducked and nearly slid off the stone platform as the creature leaped for him; as it floundered on the ice again it spun and managed to keep its wide mouth aimed in Onmund's direction, and he was able to see the glow in the creature's throat a moment before a massive spray of flames erupted from it maw. His ward split it to either side of him and when the creature stopped to take a breath he was dismayed to see just how large of an area it had cleared of the ice.

Onmund quickly began to spray down those spots with frost -- he couldn't allow this damn thing to burn away the one small advantage he currently had.

He had to stop and dodge aside, flailing his arms to keep his balance as the monster lunged and swiped at him; his momentum carried him toward the far eastern corner and the monster slid toward the southern. Beyond the monster Onmund could see the little tide pool.

_If only that was deep enough to drown this thing..._

...hang on a moment.

The little pool had a very narrow gap in the rocks that led out to the sea - maybe two feet wide - and Onmund knew how to move and shape the earth. That pool might not be deep NOW, but--

It was a stupid idea, likely impossible to manage while this thing was chasing him around, and yet it was the best thing he could think of as he watched the monster again shrug off three more lightning bolts and a fireball.

Mentally he reached out to feel around the bottom of the tide pool; it felt like...sand, and a lot of it, sitting on top of stone far below. Sand wasn't hard to move like stone was - it was slightly easier than packed soil even - and he shifted a foot or so on the side nearest him and watched as the water rippled...then immediately dove and rolled off the platform as the creature lunged for him and very nearly clawed one massive hand down his chest.

He risked using one hand to hold up his ward and the other to direct and dig at the sand, and paid for it with a searing blast of flames across the left side of his face before he managed to get the ward angled correctly. The tide pool rippled again and began to froth as he haphazardly forced the sand to move away and out of the water and more water from the sea began to pour in. Once more he was forced to dance away as the reptilian beast charged for him; it seemed to be getting a feel for the icy ground and didn't slip near so much as it was before, and of course once its talons sank into the sandy area that surrounded that stone platform of the shrine it gained the traction it needed to chase Onmund in a circle, almost driving him back to the narrow gap he'd come through to reach the shrine.

In desperation Onmund ducked into that little pass -- the beast followed after and tried to wedge itself into the opening to claw at him. It did manage to rake its claws down his hip, tearing the waistband and gouging deep cuts into his left hip and thigh; Onmund staggered and fell to the ground on his knees, hissing in pain and feeling his head spin. He reached out to the magicka in the area and rapidly pulled it to and into himself, casting what was quite possibly the most powerful spells he'd ever managed; the restoration spells immediately closed the wounds but as he clambered back onto his feet and backpedaled away from the creature the gouges were pink and discolored at the edges, as well as stiff and painful as he moved -- he'd healed them too quickly for them to have mended correctly...and the only way to fix that would be to cut them open and do it again (which was something he definitely did not have the time to tend to).

Pain surged down his leg with every step but he kept backpedaling, and there was the awful noise of claws on bare stone as the beast climbed up and over the gap and scaled the cliffs to continue following him.

There was the sandy, muddy shoreline to either side of him, and open sea at his back. Onmund looked longingly in the direction of the tide pool...could he make it back through that gap and continue trying to deepen it?

He paused to glance down at his bloodied and aching leg -- it was too risky. With this monster chasing him there just wasn't the time needed to focus on what he was doing and it'd likely get him killed instead.

With a deep breath Onmund spun on a heel and charged down the small hill that led from the pass back down to the shoreline; the snow was blowing even harder and the waves looked deadly - a shower of frigid mist, snow, and wind pummeled him as he ran forward. 

Mere steps before he reached where shore met the pounding waves Onmund sent the strongest, coldest blast of frost magics he could muster ahead of him and into the churning sea, and it was a small comfort that he didn't fall through or slip when his boots hit the edge of the ever-growing sheet of ice forming under his spell. The ice beneath him grew wet as the waves washed over it and three steps from the shore had him soaked from his chest downward but with the sound of pounding feet charging after him Onmund tugged his hood down further to shield his eyes from the water and the wind, and forced himself further out into the storm and the sea.


	16. Chapter 16

Ten feet from shore he was convinced this was suicidal.

Fifteen feet from shore he swore he could see something ahead of him - something barely noticeable through the swirling snow, floating in the water.

Twenty feet from shore when his ice bridge met up with a large ice floe Onmund felt a glimmer of hope -- maybe this wasn't such a terrible idea after all.

He'd found a rhythm at that point: step, freeze boot to the icy path, thicken the ice beneath him, yank his other foot loose and repeat; the waves were tall and treacherous out this far, made all the worse by the constant wind of the storm, but that wind was also pushing the gigantic floating ice floes closer to shore...closer to HIM. They were much thicker than his ice bridge and bobbed in the water all around him, and when Onmund carefully hopped from his bridge to the nearest one it did little more than wobble a little bit under his weight.

...under HIS weight. But - and he was counting on this - how would they fare under the creature's weight? Quickly he shifted from building his own icy path to pulling the floes in closer and freezing them together; they didn't need to be made into one completely solid piece, just something solid ENOUGH that the creature wouldn't think twice about crossing out to hunt him down.

\--speaking of which he could feel a rhythmic thumping against the soles of his boots and he knew it wasn't the insistent crashing of the waves.

Partly out of a need to warm himself and partly to give the creature something to fixate on Onmund bent down closer to the floe (and, as he'd been doing, froze his boots to the ice to keep him steady) and conjured a sizeable flame in one hand. An immense relief flooded through him as warmth began to seep back into his hands and face and the thumping he could feel beneath his feet picked up in speed: the monster could see the flame in the storm, and it was coming for him.

He had positioned himself on the far side of the wide ice platform and there he waited until the hulking figure of the monster emerged like a nightmare from the snow; the ice creaked and Onmund felt it tilt ever so slightly toward the creature as it stepped onto the slab of frozen together floes -- in his mind's eye he could see the ice much like how he could "see" earth and stone, and was aware of all the tiny cracks that were already rapidly spreading from the creature's feet outward.

This was going to work...but it was just as likely to send him into the water as well. He'd need to be careful.

He let the flame die away as he stood and clenched his hands to hide how they were shaking - from cold, from fear, and from the adrenaline rushing through him; the mage was relatively certain the beast couldn't get the traction to leap this far (which would certainly doom them both) but he needed the beast to get further out toward the center of the floating platform...a sort of balance between being far enough out that the water was deep enough to drown it but not so close to Onmund himself that he'd fall in too.

The creature didn't seem all that aware of the crackle of the ice beneath it nor did it pay any attention to the waves and the wind -- in fact, it didn't seem like the cold bothered it at all so Onmund would definitely need to drown it and do so quickly.

"Come on...come get me," he growled. The wind scattered his words and he doubted the creature had heard him; to make his point Onmund sent a fireball glancing off its broad shoulder, getting a tooth-filled snarl in response that then turned into a gout of flame he sent deflecting into the sky with his wards.

"Come on...come on! Come kill me, you damn monster!" he yelled then. "Can you understand me? Are you stupid? COME AND GET ME!"

Thankfully the monster didn't jump at him but it did come charging across the ice; Onmund's boots skidded and slipped and in desperation he threw himself onto his stomach and side, sliding and rolling away as the creature scrabbled against the ice to halt its momentum and turn. By the time he regained his feet the beast was already after him - its claws provided more grip than Onmund's boots did and it was leaving deep grooves in the ice that was only worsening the--

\-- the ice was cracking along the edges of the floes where he'd forced them together and frozen them into one fragile sheet; his roll had taken him toward the center of the platform and in a flash of decision he launched himself toward his ice bridge on the other side, sliding first on his stomach and then on his back as he flipped himself over and upright, and raised his hands above his head.

In the split instant before the lightning bolts struck Onmund saw the glint of teeth and the glow of another burst of flame forming just beyond the shine of the beast's fangs; the empowered lightning struck the middle of the stitched together ice floe in the same instant Onmund reached out and "pushed" as violently as he could at the ever-widening cracks that now had lightning shooting through them. The result was a chorus of loud cracks as the ice floes blew away and apart, and with an angry howl that turned into a liquidy gurgle the beast fell through the middle and disappeared beneath the frothing water.

The section of his bridge that Onmund was balanced on tipped up at an alarming angle but he froze his heels to the surface and slammed his back against the ice -- it was enough to force the ice to tip back the other way and splash back flat onto the water, and as it was shifting Onmund turned his attention to the floes and began to yank them back together and blast water and frost over their tops. He could hear the thrashing of the monster beneath the waves and see the claws struggling to gain a handhold on the floes even as he struggled to freeze them together again. For a brief moment he thought he'd failed as the creature dug its claws in and began to lift itself from the water; he quickly struck the floe's lifting underside with a blast of wind and flipped it over, dumping the beast back into the sea.

His breath was both burning and freezing in his throat as he threw as much of his strength into his spells as he could; for seemingly eternity all he did was struggle to bring the floes together and freeze them as the creature beneath them fought to break them apart and clamber back on top of them.

And finally...the thrashing slowed. The claws slid beneath the waves and while he could still detect the thuds and vibrations of them raking along the bottoms of the floes they didn't break through the ice he was so frantically thickening under an onslaught of magic. He didn't relent and kept casting until he was nearly spent and the ice was three times as thick as it had been before, then he ripped himself free from where he'd frozen to the ice and walked out into the center of the massive floe he'd created.

Onmund dropped to his knees and pressed freezing hands to the ice's surface and felt...nothing. No thumping, no raking of claws, not even the cold. With a shuddering sigh he again fell back and sat down, beginning to shiver madly as the adrenaline began to leave him and he became aware of just how chilled he was. With a small burst of what remained within him he created a bell-shaped canopy of ice over himself to block the wind, waves, and the blowing snow; he immediately felt better just by sheltering himself and as the storm raged around him he conjured a flame and began to warm himself, listening to the pounding of the waves and the odd whistling noise that the wind made as it rushed over the hole he'd left in the top of his icy shelter.

\-------------------------------------------------

He was soaked and freezing again by the time he made it back to shore; he'd heard and seen no sign of the beast and was cautiously optimistic that he'd successfully drowned it. Once within range of the magicka that still hung thick in the air Onmund again paused and sheltered within a self-made icy canopy, spending quite some time bolstering his strength and getting warmth and life back into his body. 

And as he sat there on the shoreline, huddled within his little personal cave, he reached out again to find the path of ambient magicka that had been burned into the landscape. It had started at the College and led him down the shore to the little channel, across to where he found the shrine, and...

Yes, there it was. When the monster had come after him again he'd lost the focus needed to follow the path but now he could sense how it veered away from the shrine and over the water back toward the mainland and into the mountains south of Winterhold; that Varea and Kestrel could not only battle on this level but fight _this long_ was something he struggled to wrap his head around and the more he thought about it the more a feeling that was somewhere between terror and excitement filled him -- knowing this level of power was possible was frightening and yet Onmund found himself wanting to reach this point - of being able to stand toe to toe with such a daunting threat and have half a chance at defeating it.

Of course there was the small problem of being unable to defeat a threat if he couldn't catch up with it -- he was a considerable distance away from where he could sense what he thought MIGHT be the end of the magicka path (or else he was too far away to tell if it went further). He would have to cross that channel again and then climb his way back up to Winterhold...and then, after THAT, somehow get out into the mountains.

It was enough to make his confidence deflate - he'd defeated one monster only to have no hope of catching up to the next one.

Wearily he broke free of the ice shell and began to retrace his steps; some time later he found himself scaling the cliffs to get up to where a narrow and snowy road led into Winterhold. Climbing back up was harrowing; the snow had calmed somewhat but the wind still howled and there were several times he was thrown off balance as the wind whipped around him and caught in his hood, teetering him backward ever so slightly (not enough to make him fall but enough to make him sick to his stomach with the fear that he would).

When he finally threw himself over the top of the cliff and clumsily scrabbled in the snow to haul his lower half up onto solid (and flat) ground Onmund was surprised to hear a snort and a...a sort of-

Pawing at the ground, off to his right, and to his right was--

There was just...a horse. Standing here. Fully saddled. No rider.

Laying on his stomach in the snow he stared dumbly up at the animal -- where had it come from? How did it get here? WHY was it here?

He stood and brushed himself off then conjured a tiny magelight; there were no hoof prints leading to where the horse stood, no footprints near it either. It was like the beast had just popped into existence on that very spot...but how?

Oh.

Onmund looked around and even up toward the sky. "--if you're still watching me, you'd better not let me die," he called into the empty air. The horse started a bit at his voice and let out an uneasy nicker as he came up to it.

"Easy, easy...we've got a long way to go," he murmured, extinguishing the magelight and moving forward to give the horse's nose a soft pat. He waited until he was certain the animal was completely calm then climbed into the saddle and nudged it into a trot. With the snow it would be difficult to determine where the road actually was aside from a very general idea of a flat, cleared space -- Onmund just hoped there weren't any hazards hidden beneath the drifts that would injure the horse if it stumbled.

Briefly he closed his eyes and retraced the magicka path with his mind's eye - there weren't any roads he knew of between here and the end, and it felt...like he would need to go clear through Winterhold and out the other side before heading out into the mountains. At least he could give the guards a bit of reassurance that Winterhold itself was safe for the moment, as was the College--

...well, there'd be no reaching the people in the College until the bridge got repaired, but at least he could tell the guards that they were alive.

With a sigh he urged the horse faster; if Quaranir was right then he had somewhere to be and, he assumed, a limited amount of time to reach that place. Onmund was thankful he had an idea of _where_ he needed to be and with the gift of the horse (either from Quaranir or the Divines themselves) he was hopeful he'd arrive in time to...do... _something._

To his surprise the guards didn't try to stop or even hail him; those who spotted him riding up called out to the others and they wordlessly moved to get out of his way (though there were more than a few glares shot at him). 

"--the College has been cleared and those inside are alive and uninjured - I think," Onmund called out as he came closer. "At the very least there's no longer a threat there."

A tall Nord man in full Winterhold guard garb (Onmund couldn't see the man's face) stepped up to grab the reins as Onmund came to a halt. "-you're certain? How do we even get out there? We all watched the bridge collapse under that monster."

"I know - I was on it when it fell," was his response; he shuddered a bit at the memory of that awful feeling in his stomach when he was plummeting. "I can -- I can repair the bridge when I get back but the person behind all of this has been driven into the mountains. You don't need to worry about anything coming out of the College but you should keep an eye on the hills and peaks."

"You'd best be right, mage."

"If I'm not it'll be a surprise to both of us."

The guard stepped away and Onmund was careful to guide the horse through the gauntlet of guards before nudging it back into a gallop; he left Winterhold behind quickly and was soon looking for that familiar gap in the tall mountaintops that led to a winding but clear path back toward Saarthal -- he could think of no other gaps or openings along the road that traveled up into the towering mountains so his best chance was to start there and see where he needed to go.

A familiar archway, far above his head, marked the gap and Onmund turned the horse into the hills; the storm that had caught him out near the shoreline was reduced to sheer winds up here but as it wound among the cliffs and howled through the pass it was blowing the snow around in large, abrupt, and unpredictable gusts - with each sudden blast that came head on he was pelted with snow and could feel it gathering in his hood, and it was such a little thing to become annoyed with but considering everything _else_ he'd dealt with so far today this little, minor detail was making him angrier than it really should.

And by the fourth time he yanked his hood free, shook it empty, and then tugged it back on he was wholly, immensely irritated - so irritated in fact that he was distracted and taken completely off guard when a deafening blast sounded far above his head. The horse started and then bucked and Onmund went tumbling to the ground with his ears ringing, and looked up in horror as, just visible on a ledge far far above him, the head and arm of a statue to Azura careened down the mountainside in thunderous, staccato cracks. Onmund left the horse to run on its own and scrambled to his feet to run for safety, feeling the ground shake under him as the head and arm hit the ground thirty feet away and thankfully sank deep into the snow and earth. All at once he was aware of an approaching, growing tension in the air - the feeling of expended and suspended magicka - and then Varea and Kestrel came flying (actually flying!) into view above him.

The magicka path he'd been sensing had seemed to end somewhere in these peaks; Kestrel and Varea had been moving even as he'd rushed here and now they were literally right on top of him in a mid-air battle full of eye-searingly brilliant spells being rapidly slung back and forth.

...so, this was it then -- he was here. He'd made it in time. But what was he supposed to do?

He didn't know how to fly and doubted he could hit a target that far away moving that quickly in the chaos of the fight going on...he'd be just as likely to accidentally hit Kestrel, IF he hit anything at all.

Considering his options came to a halt as one of the figures darting around above him was suddenly plummeting for the ground; by his estimation they were going to land too close for comfort so he once again sprinted across the pass and slid into cover behind the enormous head of the Azura statue and watched as Varea hit the ground hard enough to send a spray of snow, stone, and dirt into the air -- and yet, she stood as though nothing had happened and Onmund winced as he got a look at her.

The altmer's skin was a deep gray and looked scaly, like that monster's had; her fingers were elongated and with talon-like nails, and her entire body seemed very angular and...unnatural, like she'd gained dozens more joints and was bent all over at wrong angles. He didn't get more than a glimpse before he'd forced himself to look away: the crown on her head was still calling out to him only instead of compelling him to put it on it wanted him to obey Varea...a siren's call to willingly enslave himself to her whims.

_Great...what do I do...? I can't look at her for too long without risking..._

Very cautiously he moved around the side of the head, placing it between him and Varea; he both heard and felt Kestrel's arrival and the two mages continued to battle. A great deal of magicka was suddenly in the air - he could hardly stand the feeling of it - and his eyes widened as the head beside him rocked as it took the full force of...whatever had just been cast and missed.

_What am I supposed to do?_

The moment he was spotted by Varea he knew he was dead...but then, was that was he was supposed to do? Was that all he was? A needed distraction for his master to strike her down?

Was he Cedrore, after all?

He let out a hiss of pain as a brilliant bolt of what looked like orange lightning struck the rocks up the hill and sent red-hot slivers of stone raining down on him. Onmund had no desire to die here but it was starting to seem inevitable even if he chose to do nothing.

And he...couldn't do that. He couldn't just sit here and do nothing - not when there was something he was supposedly destined to do. He just needed to figure out what.

The head was rocked again and Onmund backed away from it warily; cracks were beginning to inch across its surface and knowing that it was already weakened from the tumble it had taken down the mountain he really didn't want to be close to it if or when it shattered. There was the arm that wasn't too far away but it also wasn't tall enough to completely hide him unless he laid down, and if they took flight again all Varea would need to do was look down anyway to spot him...

Still, it was better than being torn to shreds by shards of rock. He sucked in a deep breath and peeked around the head, then took off at a sprint and threw himself down behind the arm and waited -- when no spells came his way he assumed he'd not been seen and carefully rolled to his stomach and then onto his knees to peer over the top of the arm.

The two mages had circled around and now Kestrel's back was to him; Varea hammered Kestrel's ward with spell after spell and left her standing in a tiny island of earth in the middle of a growing crater before Kestrel got a moment to return fire - metaphorically and literally, and Varea was driven back and then back into the air by boulder-sized balls of fire that scoured the ground clean of snow.

Onmund felt so ridiculously out-classed he again wondered if he was destined to be a sacrifice and nothing more; maybe he could... Maybe he could last long enough to empower Kestrel, or heal her, or do something to help HER rather than try to do something on his own.

That line of thinking was interrupted by a spray of blue-white flame -- Kestrel dodged away and the flames washed over the arm, roaring above Onmund's head and sucking his breath away with the intense heat. He gasped and threw himself down into snow that was quickly turning into a wet slush and felt his stomach clench at what he thought was footsteps - very rapid and very close footsteps.

He sat up and spun around, a bolt of lightning readied in one hand but in the aftermath of the flames the statue's arm was cracking and its outer layer was breaking away and falling -- he'd mistaken the thuds of rock hitting the ground as someone approaching him, and he breathed a sigh relief when he found himself still alone.

And...actually, that gave him an idea. 

Onmund shifted and squatted on his heels, and carefully lifted himself up to peer over the edge of the arm again; Kestrel and Varea were still very close to him - unnervingly, alarmingly close. They were all surrounded by the tall peaks of the mountain range, and Onmund was no stranger to forming earth and stone to suit his own needs...so. He could still be the distraction needed, and maybe wouldn't die after all.

He let his gaze roam over the surrounding stone, and saw up near the archway an outcrop that was coated with large icicles; Onmund lowered himself just enough to leave his eyes above the statue's arm then reached out and shattered the icicles and the stone both and sent all of it tumbling down the side of the mountain. The sharp cracks and smacks as it fell weren't near as loud as the head and arm had been, but it was loud ENOUGH that both mages paused for a moment to look that direction.

It was a ridiculously brief moment before they went back to hurling potential death at one another, but...it'd gotten their attentions.

_All right...I just need to hope Kestrel catches on and Varea doesn't._

Onmund rested back on haunches again and peered around looking for another likely target to rip free and let fall.


End file.
